Children Among Saints
by Jade117TheLoneWanderer
Summary: Life after Grelod's death was easier, simpler, yet it was not enough for Aventus. At the age of thirteen, he convinced the other eight orphans to escape Honorhall Orphanage once and for all. Young and naive, they did not realize what was written for them in the Elder Scrolls. War and dragons will ravage Skyrim, and none will be spared. WARNING: Violence and abuse! HIATUS LOST MUSE!
1. Chapter 1

**Summary** : Life after Grelod's death was easier, simpler, yet it was not enough for Aventus. At the age of thirteen, he convinced the other eight orphans to escape Honorhall Orphanage once and for all. Young and naive, they did not know their destinies had already been written in the Elder Scrolls. War and dragons will ravage Skyrim, and none will be spared. WARNING: Contains graphic violence and implications of sexual abuse.

 **Rating** : M for graphic violence and implications of sexual abuse. You've been warned. Don't like, don't read.

 **Pairings** : Aventus and Lucia, Samuel and Runa Fair-Shield, Blaise and Sofie (don't worry, I'm aging them up throughout the story)

 **Cover Image** : The cover image is titled "The Bulk of the Empire VS The Son of Skyrim" and it belongs to LordHayabusa357. You can find it on DeviantArt under his profile. For some reason, the Doc Manager isn't letting me put in a direct link to it.

 **Author's Note and Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Elder Scrolls or anything in its universe. The Elder Scrolls universe is the property of Bethesda Softworks, and is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this, nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only._

 _As a head's up, I am taking the liberty of altering a few things, including altering the races of specific NPCs to match their race with their names. Such NPCs include Aventus Aretino, switching from Nord to Imperial; Francois Beaufort, switching his race to Breton; and Blaise, switching his race to Imperial._

 _In addition, the Dragonborn will be a male Nord and he will side with the Stormcloaks. So, if you hate the Stormcloaks… I'm sorry. And while I, personally, sided with Imperials the only time I've played through the Civil War, it makes the most sense for a male, Nord Dragonborn to side with the Stormcloaks. Naturally, the Dragonborn, the Listener, the Arch-Mage, the Harbinger, the Nightingale, and the Vampire Hunter (Dawnguard), will all be separate characters. The PC characters will be diverse: some will be serious, others goofy, and others… interesting. However, they will act as background characters, not main characters. Still, their interactions will reflect the Player, as well as make references to Skyrim's gameplay._

 _I am also expanding the Civil War to make it more realistic. Holds will be taken, lost, retaken, and fortified. Some sieges will also fail._

 _Skyrim will also be much larger._

 _I'm also changing the language slightly to give it a more "medievaly" feel: removing contractions (unless it's spoken by children or individuals with little to no education), altering modern day phrases to fit the time period, and making the vocabulary more formal._

 _Also, it bothered me that a newspaper and the invention of the printing press was present in Oblivion, yet 200 years later we do not have such a service. That's changing._

 _Finally, I am altering the timeline slightly. This includes making the Listener slay Grelod the Kind prior to the attack on Helgen; the Civil War will take five years to resolve, not a few weeks as played in Skyrim; and the other orphans throughout Skyrim have been picked up by Honorhall Orphanage and have also experienced the unspeakable atrocities committed by Grelod the Kind._

 _Be warned, this story will contain graphic depictions of violence and have implications of sexual abuse. Despite Skyrim's gameplay and limited storyline, the Civil War will destroy lives._

 _This is my first work I'm revealing to the public, so constructive criticism is encouraged to help me refine my writing style. I may or may not answer questions, depending on time or if it reveals spoilers, but I will try to read every comment. I do ask that you do not complain about my interpretation of lore, pairings, or the Dragonborn siding with the Stormcloaks. Again, it makes the most sense._

 _Please rate and review. If people seem interested in the story, I'll try to post a new chapter, ideally, every week; but due to life, it might be more like every two weeks or so. Sorry, but college, work, a social life, reading, and video games also inhabit my life. If people don't seem interested… I'll still post the chapters, but in a less timely manner._

 _TLDR: Contains graphic violence, implications of sexual abuse, Dragonborn siding with the Stormcloaks, more realistic Civil War. First public work, so please rate and review, but don't complain about my interpretation of lore, pairings, or the Dragonborn siding with the Stormcloaks. If you don't like the concept, or if you LOVE terrible, vanilla Skyrim, don't read._

 _I hope you enjoy the story!_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

"Sam… Sam… Sam! Wake up!"

Head still foggy from his dream, Samuel swung a punch at the old woman standing over him. His fist failed to connect to a solid object and he fell out of bed with a loud THUD.

"Nice going, impbrain. You want to wake the whole city?" Two hands pulled him up by his right arm. Recognizing the voice, Samuel realized the individual was not Grelod the Kind, but his best friend, Aventus Aretino.

Samuel roughly pulled his arm away and blinked, attempting to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the night. "You're the one who woke me up," he grumbled, "Why are you even awake at this hour?"

"I'm leaving." Aventus stated.

"WH-"

"Shut up!" The dark haired boy clamped a hand over Samuel's mouth.

There was a shift of movement in the other room. Both boys froze, their minds regressing to when Grelod had dominated their lives, to when the boys wished they had never been brought into the world. Sam found himself counting, by the time he reached five, Grelod would have stormed out of her room and screeched like a vicious hagraven. He reached three hundred and no sound had emanated from the room.

They were safe.

When Aventus finally released him, Samuel hissed, "What in Oblivion has possessed you to even think of that!?"

"You're coming too."

"You jest." Samuel prayed to the Eight Divines he was kidding.

The other boy shook his head. "No. You, me, and everyone else is getting out of here. Tonight."

"Aventus, that's… crazy. Why should we leave? We have everything we need: food, water, a bed, friends. We don't need to go anywhere else."

"But it's not home, Sam."

Shaking his head, Samuel tried to argue, "Once we get adopted, we'll all have homes."

"Separate homes. We'll be separated, Sam. We'll never see each other again. Luci, Al, Hroar, Blaise, Sofie, Francois, Runa, they'll all be gone."

"Okay, so we act as the worst kids ever. Make it so no one will want to adopt us. And even if they still want us, we'll refuse. We'll wait three more years and then we'll be sixteen, then we can all leave."

"Not everyone cares about what a kid wants."

"Constance cares."

Aventus' tone shifted dramatically, his voice trembled with rage. "Did she 'care' when Grelod poured boiling water over the girls to 'purge Dibella from their souls'? Did she 'care' when Grelod beat our faces in until our eyes were swollen shut? Did she 'care' when Grelod forbade our adoptions? Did she 'care' to do anything to prevent Grelod from hurting us?" He fell silent.

Neither spoke a word until the silence began to ring in their ears. "Sam… we have to make sure all of us get out of here, now, while we still can."

"There's no changing your mind, is there?"

"No." Something shone in Aventus' eyes… the same thing that was present when he had left Honorhall the first time… right before Grelod the Kind disappeared.

Samuel nodded. "Let's wake the others then." He approached the bed beside his and placed a hand on Runa Fair-Shield's shoulder. Aventus began to exchange excited whispers with Lucia and Alesan.

"I heard," the girl sat up in her bed and looked up at Sam. "I'm glad we're getting out of this dump." Her voice was steady, but Samuel knew Runa well: she was frightened. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she began to pack her few belongings.

As Aventus roused Blaise and Sofie, Samuel shook Francois' shoulder. "Francois, get up. We're leaving."

The other boy waved Samuel away.

"Francois. C'mon. It's time to go."

"Go where?" the Breton groaned.

"Out of Riften."

Francois rolled over and glared at Samuel. "Mummy and father are coming back for me, they said so."

"You've been saying that for a whole year! Face it, horker-breath, they're not coming back." Runa sneered, crossing her arms.

"THEY -"

Aventus rushed past Samuel and silenced Francois. "Don't ruin this for us, Francois. Pack your things and let's go."

The Breton boy scowled at the Imperial but said nothing.

When everyone had gathered their belongings, Aventus and Samuel exchanged a look.

It was time to wake Hroar.

"Hey, Hroar," Aventus began, tapping a hand on the Nord's back. "It's time to wake up."

The boy murmured incoherently and rubbed his nose.

"Francois." Samuel whispered, getting his attention. The pair crept toward the solid oak doors and examined them. Several chains and bolts kept the doors locked from the outside, but one lock was set from the outside.

Grelod had kept the lock in place to ensure the orphans could not escape. When Constance became the new caretaker, the children thought the doors would be unlocked, however, she claimed ruthless thieves walked the streets of Riften at night and she too locked the door to "protect" them.

The key would be with Constance, but Samuel did not want to test their luck. Instead, he asked Francois, the aspiring mage, a very simple question, "Can you unlock this?"

Placing his hands on his hips, the boy growled, "If I could, don't you think I would have opened it already by now?"

"Yeah, but you thought your parents were coming back for you. You didn't have a reason to leave." Runa sniped.

"The question still stands. Can you or can you not?" Samuel kept his voice lowered, they were so close to Constance's room… She may have been nice, but the children were not sure what to expect from the woman who had stood by, watching, as her superior tortured them.

Francois shrugged. "I might be able to… I can try." Runa and Lucia began to undo the inner locks, careful not to clatter the thin chains or snap the bolts too quickly.

As Samuel nodded, Hroar's voice called out and was quickly muffled. Aventus shushed the Nord and hauled him out of bed.

"You may want to hasten your efforts." Samuel suggested. Aventus' hand was clamped firmly on Hroar's mouth and somehow he managed to drag the taller boy across the room. However, Aventus seemed to be losing his grip as Hroar struggled and flailed.

Francois began to turn away from the double doors. "Do you realize how difficult this task -"

Pointing to the lock, Samuel snapped at the other boy, "Quickly!" He turned back to Aventus and Hroar, the latter's thrashing slowed by the former.

"Hroar, you iceskull, stop or we won't feed you!" Runa snarled.

The blonde boy's eyes widened in fear and his efforts to escape ceased.

A CLICK reached Samuel's ears, followed by Francois' voice. "Success!" Aventus pulled one of the doors in and ushered the other eight orphans out.

As his friend shut the door, Samuel ran his gaze over the streets of Riften. The fire from Balimund's forge burned dimly, barely illuminating the western side of the market. The stalls in the market circle were locked and abandoned for the night.

Several guards garbed in Riften purple stood vigil by the Temple of Mara and Mistveil Keep. Other guards trudged through the streets, pausing occasionally to converse with one another. To Samuel's relief, none had noticed the group of children.

Samuel began to turn back towards his friends when two glowing eyes froze him in place. The head appeared behind the low stone wall obscuring the stall owned by the Argonian merchant, Madesi. Two cat ears pierced with golden earrings sprouted from the furred head, the dark amber eyes locked onto the children as a famished Sabrecat gazed at a deer.

"Sam? What's -" Aventus never finished his sentence.

As the group of children noticed the Khajiit, another head peered over the low wall. The pair stood. Metal almost as black as the night itself covered the male Khajiit, silver edges gleamed bright in the moonlight. The other was a female, clothed in dark leather. Samuel could barely make out white fangs jutting out of the other's lower jaw, identifying her as an Orc.

"Thieves!" Sofie breathed in fear.

The color drained from Samuel's face as he saw long claws retract into pawed hands. Perhaps it had not been wise to leave the orphanage.

Without warning, the Orc leapt over the low wall, jumped onto the wooden balustrade overlooking the lower area of Riften, and sprang forward. She landed silently at the top of the stairs, leading down to lower Riften, adjacent to the orphanage.

Before the children could react, she approached, crouched down, and asked in a hushed tone. "What're you kids doin' out here at this hour?" The heavily armored Khajiit ran to catch up with his partner.

Samuel noted her strange accent and began to wonder whether or not they should call the guards. She was a thief, or at least garbed as one… yet it seemed impractical for a thief to associate with someone in heavy armor. And if Samuel called the guards, they would be back in Honorhall.

"I'm wondering how long we will be crouched like this," the blue Khajiit whispered. "It is not good for the knees."

Laughing slightly at her companion's comment, the Orc turned back to the children. "Let me guess, you want to get out of Riften."

Samuel glanced to Aventus. The dark-haired boy hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Right, leave it to me," the Orc woman stood up straight, towering over the orphans. She waved at the children, urging them to follow, and strode towards the gates. On either side of the open gate stood a pair of guards.

"What are you doing," Aventus hissed. "You're leading us right to the guards!"

The Orc smiled at the orphans. "Don't worry about it, c'mon."

"Do not worry, young ones," the Khajiit reassured, "She knows what she is doing." He ushered the children forward.

As they neared the open turnstile, the torchlight illuminated the Khajiit's face. His fur was a deep blue, his mane black, and Samuel was not sure if the white on his face was fur or war paint. Three bright red slashes marred the Khajiit's nose diagonally, and beneath his right eye were three more scars, rived vertically. A tiny gash cut the corner of his right eye as well. Samuel blanched, his mind spawning several horrific scenarios in which the mighty cat would have been involved in to have defaced him so.

Waving in greeting, the Orc walked past the guards. One man simply nodded in return and stated, "No lollygaggin'." The children hurried past the purple armored men and women and Samuel stared in awe as the adults barely noticed the group.

When they exited Riften, a cart came into view. Several men and a woman, each armed to the teeth, loaded a several large crates and tents onto the cart. A crimson Argonian in only black and red, spiked greaves, boots, and gauntlets barked orders, "Hurry it up guys! We don't have all night!"

The Orc thief approached the shirtless male. "Hey there, Gah-Thux. Miss me?

"What is it, Uglush?" His eyes did not meet the woman, focusing instead on the cart and the warriors loading it. His accent was outlandish, though it matched the Orc's.

"I need you to deliver something for me."

The Argonian snorted and shifted his yellow eyes to Uglush. He opened his mouth to speak, but then his gaze flashed to the children. Snapping his head back to the Orc, he glared, "Using children as smugglers. And here I thought your antics couldn't get any worse."

"I'm a thief, you're a mercenary," she raised her upturned palms into the air and shrugged. "We both do the things we do for money."

"I'm a Companion," Gah-Thux corrected, "I am not a common mercenary. I have morals." Several warriors narrowed their eyes in disdain at the Argonian's comment.

The woman folded her arms across her chest. "Look, you're going to the Throat for Marise, right? All I need you to do is drop them off at Ivarstead. It's on the way."

"And what would I be 'dropping off'? Moon sugar? Skooma? Stolen goods? Amulets of Talos?"

"You'd be dropping off nine orphans who have nowhere to go."

"What?"

Uglush's voice lowered to a whisper and Samuel strained to hear the exchange. "Look, you know how bad Honorhall is, you've read about it. Heck, Conor told us about it."

Yellow eyes gazed briefly at the children. "These are the kids?"

"Yeah."

"Which one…"

Samuel was unable to detect anything else. After several more seconds, the Argonian finally nodded and snarled at the mercenaries as they loaded the last crate. "Change of plans! Restack the crates, we've gotta make room!"

As the mercenaries groaned in outrage, Uglush smiled at the children. "You'll be on your way soon. Gah-Thux'll take care of you. You can make your way to wherever from Ivarstead, right?"

"We'll manage," Aventus nodded. "Thank you."

The thief rustled through her bag and handed each orphan a loaf of bread, a slice of cheese, and a chunk of salted meat. "This should hold you over for a little. When you get hungry or thirsty, make sure you get him to feed you, no sense in getting you this far for you to starve to death."

Each child thanked Uglush, save for Hroar who stuffed his mouth and scarfed down the small meal.

Laughing, she added, "And one more thing," she knelt down to look each of them in the eye. "Steal only what you can carry. If you don't need it, it's not worth it. Got it?"

As they nodded, Gah-Thux approached the group. "Right, we're all ready. Are you?"

The other eight orphans looked to Aventus. Fire burning in his eyes, he said, "Let's go."

* * *

 _ **For those of you who did not get the reference, the blue Khajiit was none other than Inigo the Brave. He's an awesome follower mod available on the Nexus, and you should definitely check it out… unless you like vanilla Skyrim…**_

 _ **I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, feel free to PM me or submit a review to let me know if it's some**_ thing you'd be interested in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

 _To clarify, the only PCs will be the Heroes (the Dragonborn, Harbinger, Listener, Arch-Mage, Nightingale, and the Vampire Hunter): just because individuals have names you've never heard before, doesn't mean they're a PC._

 _According to the in-game Skyrim book_ Cats of Skyrim _, the spelling of "sabre cat" is "sabrecat" and so I will be utilizing that spelling, not UESP, Elder Scrolls Wiki, nor Skyrim's spelling._

 _Concerning the size of Skyrim, I'm estimating it at roughly 250 miles wide and about 375 miles long, giving it an area of about 93,750 square miles. As a general guideline, that makes the distance from Riften to Shor's Stone 50 miles._

 _For travel times, I'm assuming a horse can walk at 4mph, trots between 8 and 12mph, canters between 12 and 15 mph, and gallops between 25 and 30 mph. A horse pulling a cart, maybe a couple horses actually, will probably trot. However, if not everyone is in the cart, it'll be walking so that the humanoids can keep up. So basically, from Riften to Ivarstead (estimating approximately 150 miles, because roads twist and turn and everything) at 4mph, it's going to take 37.5 hours..._

 _Also, The Rift is described as being a "temperate region" with "deciduous forests" (UESP's Skyrim:The Rift and Lore:The Rift, accordingly) which means that the average temperature is 50 degrees Fahrenheit with a precipitation of 30 - 60 inches per year, with it snowing in the winter (University of California, Santa Barbara)._

 _Now, skinning animals doesn't take much time for the PC in Skyrim, whereas realistically it could take up to a couple of hours. To resolve this, a PC may take a few seconds to loot and skin an animal, but an NPC by themselves will take at least an hour._

 _Why is this important? Because I'd like to make this a little realistic, and I'm making the math justify a long travel time between Riften and Ivarstead so people can't argue._

 _As a side note, I'm going to be shooting for about 3000 to 5000 words per chapter. All chapters will be meaningful, no fluff like they sometimes do with anime. Last chapter was pretty short due to my long note, sorry about that. I shouldn't have any other long notes, besides this one, since I'm establishing the math here. But you can expect a little lore, a couple assumptions, and/or weather/climate explanations at the beginning of each chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

The cart bumped and jumped at every loose stone in the road, creaking from the strain of carrying the cumbersome supplies towards the front. The erratic motion made it nearly impossible for the children to rest throughout the night, and so they sat awake and in silence. Early morning rain soaked through the children's thin clothes and chilled them to the bone. The rising sun's rays could not pierce the gray gloom and did nothing to warm them. None complained, fearing one of their four escorts would lash a hand out at them.

Once Hroar released a mighty sneeze, the red Argonian jumped into the cart and distributed fur blankets amongst the children. The wilderness of the Fall Forest was much different than Honorhall: the forest was open and fresh and clear in stark contrast with the stale and suffocating orphanage... but they had at least been warm in the orphanage. The city walls had protected them from gusts of wind, but there was nothing to shield them from the elements now, save for the wolf pelts wrapped around them.

Lucia sighed and watched her white, frozen breath fade to nothing. She would have been excited to leave Riften and finally see the beauty of Lake Honrich: its waters glittering beside them and fierce hawks swooping down from the sky to haul squirming fish out from the tarn, or even the wheat, leek, and potato fields of Snow-Shod farm... if it had not been so cold.

"Early winter this year." Gah-Thux said conversationally.

"It is not winter yet," the sole female mercenary replied, "Cold, yes, but not winter.

A young, handsome Nord clad in gleaming white armor stated, "If a cold Last Seed follows a hot Sun's Height, hard and dry will be winter's bite." Turning to the cart, he continued, "I hope you all have a place to stay, children."

Blushing fiercely as his gray eyes met hers, Lucia whirled her face away to hide from his gaze. She looked to a spot behind Francois, focusing instead on the bridge leading across the lake to a cluster of several small islands. A two-story house sat on the furthest island and several men milled about. They shouted at one another and pointed to objects Lucia could not quite make out.

"What do you think has them _buzzing_ around?" an Imperial quipped. He flashed an open mouth grin to his comrades.

Gah-Thux turned to the children and explained, "That's Goldenglow Estate over on the island. It's a honey farm."

The female Nord squinted her eyes to get a better view of the island. "Looks like they have a problem with their hives..."

Shaking his head, the Argonian chuckled under his breath.

"Is something amusing, _lizard_?" the male Nord inquired, a sharp tinge of disdain was audible in the final word.

Gah-Thux's smile fell into a grimace. "Watch it bud. You have no idea who your green-ass is messing with."

"Ha! If anyone is 'green', it is _your_ kind. _Your_ kind do not belong in Skyrim. If you do not watch yourself, you will get what is coming to you from one _superior_ to you. If you do not shape up soon, that person will be me." the white knight sneered in response.

"Don't you know, a knight in white armor is just a man who has never had his mettle tested."

As the pair began to argue, Lucia looked to Aventus for reassurance. When she first arrived in Honorhall, Grelod had welcomed Lucia by screaming into her face until the young girl began to sob uncontrollably. That night, the other orphans consoled her and attempted to bring her spirits up. It was Aventus who had managed to make Lucia smile by mocking Grelod and personifying her as a cranky hagraven. From that moment on, the two of them were inseparable.

Aventus and Lucia would laugh and talk whenever the opportunity arose, doing everything they could to raise everyone's spirits. Their lifestyle may have been bleak and their caretakers callous and heartless, but they at least had each other.

The night following Grelod's cleanse of Dibella from the girls was the night Aventus left. Lucia had been burned so badly, she trembled; but she did not cry, more fearful of Grelod's wrath at seeing her tears. Aventus tended to Lucia's wounds as best he could and he made her a promise. The next morning, he was gone. Grelod had been furious, demanding how and where he had gone, but they did not reveal his plans: to depart to Windhelm and call upon the Dark Brotherhood.

Several weeks passed and there was no sign of Aventus or the assassin... nor was there any sign of Grelod. Somehow, the elderly woman had disappeared and was now nothing more than a nightmare still present at the back of their minds. A few more weeks went by and Aventus finally returned; a broad, crooked smile crossed his face when he saw Lucia again.

That same smile he flashed at her now, and Lucia knew everything would work out somehow.

A sharp bark pierced the air. As Lucia turned to look at the threat, the ring of steel released from its sheath filled her ears.

"Dogs!" the helmed woman in black armor yelled. Lucia twisted around just in time to see a flash of brown jump off of a rock outcrop and onto the road. The dapple gray horse emitted a horrific screech and the Imperial yanked down on its reigns to prevent it from bolting as another dog joined its companion. Two more wild dogs appeared from behind the cart, jaws dripping with white foam flecked with red. Bloodshot eyes pierced into Lucia's eyes and her breath caught in her throat.

The white knight bolted to the back of the cart, dipping his shoulder as the canine pounced. Howling with rage, the beast whirled around and smashed its head into the Nord's back. A flow of bright red blood poured over the dog's face, yet it seemed unfazed by its own injury. As the knight fell, the fourth dog pounced upon his back, jaws closing around the nape of the man's neck. The Nord fell onto the dog, which yelped in pain, but the third dog was already upon him and gnashed its teeth against the Nord's face.

As the pair of dogs tore into the screaming knight, the female Nord shrieked in fear. "Crisnon!" The nine children stared in horror, frozen in place.

Gah-Thux shoved the woman aside and swung his scimitar down onto one of the dogs. But they was not finished. As one, the pair of dogs leapt out of the way, blood dripping down their jaws. The Nord Crisnon had fallen silent and Lucia paled at the thought the man might be dead.

"Luvas! Get the children out of here!" Gah-Thux charged the dogs as the Nord woman regained her balance and followed the Argonian's lead.

"You were the one who -"

"Don't argue," the Argonian jumped back, the dogs nipping at the spot he had been standing in mere milliseconds before. "Just do it!" He jabbed his blade forward, aiming for the canine's eyes.

The Imperial jumped into the driver's seat of the cart and urged the horse into a trot. The horse shook its head wildly, as the dogs continued to snap at it. Slashing at the beasts, the mercenary managed to drive back the dogs a foot. It was just a foot, but it was enough. Lucia lurched awkwardly to the side with the sudden surge of movement. As they sped away, the two mercenaries and the four dogs faded in the distance, the howls and battle cries bounced off the cobblestone road and echoed into the sky.

"We can't just leave them," Samuel called to Luvas, "They'll be torn to pieces!"

"I am _not_ going back there!" The Imperial ignored the boy and pushed the horse into a gallop.

Spinning around to glare at the man, Runa spat, "You call yourself a mercenary, but you're nothing but a coward!"

"Listen young lady, I -" Luvas was cut short by a wild bellow.

A young Redguard wielding a crude green blade threw himself onto the Imperial. He quickly and repeatedly thrust the sword into the Imperial's leather cuirass, a sickening shredding sound emanated with each plunge of the blade. All the while, he screamed like a madman. "Whatcha gonna do? Huh!? Whatcha gonna do!?"

With a terrible scream, the cart came to a crashing halt, throwing the children into a jumble amidst the stack of supplies. Lucia raised her head, looking past the Redguard, she saw a male Orc smashing a battleaxe into the decapitated horse. Lucia's stomach twisted at the stench of the dead and the blood in the air. Throwing his head over the side of the cart, Hroar retched.

Something jumped onto the cart, turning every child's head save for Hroar who was still emptying the contents of his stomach. An unhelmed Nordic woman clad in steel armor strode up to the children. "You picked a bad day to get lost." She threw Francois behind her and out of the cart. Samuel and Aventus tackled the woman, driving her off the cart and narrowly missing the Breton boy on the ground. The bandit recovered from her stupor and smashed her armored fists into the boys' faces.

Hroar tumbled off the side of the cart, Blaise and Sofie scrambled to their feet, and Alesan and Runa jumped onto the bandit brawling with their friends. Everything was happening so fast, Lucia could barely keep up. Shaking, she rose to her feet, unsure of what to do. The sickening shredding finally ceased and Lucia whirled around just in time to see the Redguard divert his attention to her. Lucia stood, paralyzed in fear as his blood-covered hand reached out to her.

A triangular bit of metal protruded from the man's throat and his hands reached up, grabbing uselessly at the obstruction. He fell to the road with a _THUMP_.

Something snatched Lucia's hand and she screamed in terror. Her eyes met Aventus' and he barked, "Let's go!" He dragged her off of the cart and yelled at the others, "C'mon!"

Lucia caught a glimpse of the Nordic woman rising to her feet when an arrow pierced her skull. As the corpse fell to the ground, the girl swiveled her head away, having no desire to divulge the secrets behind dead eyes. The nine orphans sprinted off the road and into the forest. Soon they were breathless and began to cough up blood, but they did not stop. Anyone could have slain the bandits: other mercenaries, another bandit clan, guards, and the children did not wish to take their chances with others.

No, they would rather face what lay in the depths of the forest.

Finally, Aventus halted. The others collapsed to the ground, swallowing gulps of air. "Do we have everyone?" he asked, panting.

"One, two, three, four..." Samuel began to count. "Nine. That's everyone."

Everyone sighed with relief. Lucia looked at Aventus and nodded, "Thank you."

The boy managed to smile, "Of course."

It was then Lucia noticed the gash on Aventus' forehead. "You're hurt!"

Wiping his brow, the boy stared at the back of his hand, "It's nothing."

"Who do you think killed them? The bandits." Blaise asked.

Aventus shook his head, "Don't know. It could've been anyone." The group was finally catching their breath and they turned their heads this way and that, assessing their surroundings. Lucia stared off in the distance, remembering the screams of the mercenaries and the bandits... and the Redguard reaching for her. She shook her head, forcing the memory out of her mind.

"Great, now we're lost. Nice going, Aventus." Francois mumbled bitterly.

Before the other boy could throw back a retort, Alesan pointed up towards the sky. "A watchtower! I'll bet we can find our way from there!"

"Why not just climb a tree?" Hroar gazed up at one of the thin trees.

"These trees look pretty young, I don't think they could hold our weight," Alesan explained, kicking a tree. "The tower is made of stone and it will let us see for miles and miles! Besides, when will we see another watchtower?" Alesan was already running up the hill towards the tower.

Samuel began to run after their friend, "Al, wait!"

Ignoring the call, Alesan bounded up the hill, not bothering to wait for his friends.

When the others caught up with him, passing through the archway in the stone wall, they were out of breath again. They leaned on their knees in an attempt to recover. After several gasps for air, the group made their way towards the tower.

Sofie stooped down to pluck several mountain flowers of various shades from the path. "The flowers in the Rift are so much more vibrant than the ones in Eastmarch..." A blast of wind shot through each of them and the orphans were painfully reminded of the morning rain and their lack of proper equipment. In the rush of adrenaline and fear, the children had not even considered bringing along the pelts which had kept them warm for several hours.

"At least the tower will give us some shelter from the wind." Runa rubbed her hands together vigorously.

The nine hurried up the stairs, but Lucia paused. Pointing a quivering finger at the ground she whispered, "Wh-what is that?" The others turned and gazed at the heap of decaying goat heads. Maggots and flies squirmed through eye sockets and cheeks. Coagulated blood coated the ground, glistening like scrib jelly. Hroar heaved once again, chunks spraying into the organic mass. Humongous brown tusks jutted out here and there. "Those are mammoth tusks." she breathed in realization. Lucia remembered the giants and their mammoths tromping on the horizon, through the plains of Whiterun not far from her parents' farm.

Mammoths were gigantic, only strong warriors and fools dared to face them. There must have been at least five tusks in the pile. Whatever had killed the mammoths would be a force to be reckoned with.

"I-I think we should go guys." Hroar began stepping backwards, his eyes darted around in search of some unseen threat.

Lucia glanced at Aventus for guidance. The dark-haired boy stared hard at the mass. Finally, he spoke, "I do not think we should worry."

"Don't need to worry!? We can barely defend ourselves! How can we expect to face whatever did _this_!?" Francois hissed with dread.

"Look at the heads," Aventus pointed, "There's almost no meat on them anymore. That means they've been here for quite some time. Whatever did this, obviously isn't here anymore."

"But what if it's inside..." Sofie's voice fell silent.

A low, rumbling growl sent a cold shiver of fear up Lucia's spine, and the children spun around to the archway they had passed through mere moments before. The light brown sabrecat stood beneath the stone structure, its amber eyes locked onto its prey.

"Why does everything want to eat us!?" Runa yelled in exasperation.

The cat curled up its lip and snarled. It leaned back on its haunches and exploded forward, hurtling towards the children. With a scream, it fell to the ground, an arrow stuck in the scruff of its neck.

Torn between running up the stairs to possible safety and meeting the newcomer, the children remained standing upon the stairs.

A hooded woman in studded hide armor knelt over the sabrecat and picked through it. As she skinned the animal and packed the pelt into her pack, the children stared. The woman wordlessly and methodically sliced skin from muscle and fat. Lucia barely managed to hear the words "tastes disgusting" before the woman stood up. The newcomer rose to her feet and spoke in an exotic tone, "Hello there." Several greetings were muttered by the orphans and the strange woman folded her arms across her chest. "You kids didn't happen to be traveling with a shirtless, red Argonian, were you?"

"Ye-" Hroar's excited cry was silenced by Aventus' punch.

"Why do you want to know?" The boy stood protectively in front of his friends. Samuel took position beside Aventus, the pair had always been the most vigilant when it came to the group and their well-being.

The Imperial woman smiled kindly. "Gah-Thux and I go way back. After I dispatched the group of bandits, you ran off. He asked me to find you."

"Wait," Runa spoke up, " _That_ was you?"

The huntress pulled a red-orange tailed arrow from her quiver and offered it to the girl. "You can compare them to the ones in the bandits." Runa led the others down the steps and accepted the token, examining it. Gesturing for the children to follow her, the woman brandished a walking stick and began to make her way down the hill. "Or you can say hello to the hagravens for me."

"Hagravens!?" Francois squeaked.

Turning back to smile, the huntress said, "I hear they like to feast on the flesh of young girls. Keeps their skin hydrated and springy." The orphans clambered to catch up with the woman. "I'm Jasia, by the way. Jasia Vesnox."

Picking her way over the wolf carcasses, Lucia heard Aventus inquire, "How did you manage to find us?"

"I'm a hunter," Jasia shrugged, "It's what I do." Her eyes lit up as if she had remembered something and she began to jump as she walked, almost skipping.

"Isn't it 'huntress'?" Sofie asked.

"Hunter, huntress. Both hunt. Does it matter?"

The sun finally began to break through the clouds, warming the children's skin and beginning to dry their clothes. Lucia noted how, despite the fact they were walking, they seemed to move much faster through the forest than before. Before long, they had reached the road. Gah-Thux and the female Nordic mercenary were sifting through what remained of the cart. The woman had removed her helmet, revealing a short cut of auburn hair. There was no sign of the other two mercenaries.

"I found them!" Jasia called in a sing-song voice.

The Argonian looked up from his work and a look of relief washed over his face. "Thanks Jas."

"Sabrecat had followed them while they were on their way to Darklight Tower. I found them just in time. Poor kids were almost hagraven food."

Eyes narrowing at the last sentence, Gah-Thux queried, "Wait, I thought you had cleared that place out a couple of days ago."

Jasia shrugged. "Yeah, but they didn't know that." She looked at the children, then to the Argonian, then back again, ignoring their gawking faces. "Where were you all headed anyway?"

"Ivarstead. I was going to drop them off there and then the mercs and I would head up to the Throat for some work."

"'Mercs'? Where are the others?" Jasia looked genuinely confused.

The Nordic woman's voice cracked, "My brother and..." she blinked back tears forming in the corners of her eyes. After a shaky intake of breath, she continued, "Luvas were both killed this morning." Her lips began to quake from her grief. She clutched something in her hand and walked to the edge of Lake Honrich for a moment alone.

"Luvas was her fiance." Gah-Thux explained once the woman was out of earshot.

No one said anything for a while. It was Jasia who finally broke the silence, switching the subject. "After Ivarstead, where were you thinking of going?"

Lucia glanced at Aventus, he was the one who had devised the plan after all. Surely _he_ knew where they should go next... The dark-haired boy allowed a sheepish expression to come over his face. After a moment, he regained his composure and looked Jasia square in the eye. "Anywhere but here, ma'am."

Smiling, Jasia stated, "That's what I like to hear!" She gasped suddenly and her eyes lit up, she clasped her hands together beneath her chin. "Do you need a guide!? I can be your guide, if you want!"

"Uh..." Aventus looked to his friends for support.

Before anyone could respond, Gah-Thux exclaimed, "Jasia, 'do they need a guide'. Look at them! They wouldn't last a night in the wilderness by themselves!" Lucia turned to Gah-Thux's voice and noted the sly grin upon his face. It did not seem they had much of a choice at the moment. However, his logic was sound. None had ventured across Skyrim save for Aventus. If the group wanted to survive, they would need a mentor.

Clapping her hands excitedly, Jasia whooped with joy. "It's settled then! C'mon kids! Let's head off into the wilderness, hunt some deer, club some rabbits, and try not to starve or freeze to death!" Without another word, the huntress skipped into the forest, giving the children two options: follow or be left to the elements to fend for themselves.

* * *

 ** _Things are really going to pick up now, so if you didn't like how slow it was or how it doesn't really mesh in with the Main Quest, here it comes._**

 ** _Next stop: Helgen. And if the PCs are getting on your nerves, don't worry, they'll be taking a backseat._**

 ** _Semester is coming to a close and I'm actually really getting into this story. So - no promises! - but we_ might _be seeing two chapters a week starting the week after next (finals next week, yay) up until mid-August. Don't quote me, but that might be a thing._**

 ** _Remember, if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please either PM me or send me a review._**

 ** _Thanks for reading guys, I really appreciate it!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note** :

 _Sorry, long note due to continuity/lore errors._

 _If it wasn't obvious, this story will_ not _be subscribing to the theory that the Eternal Champion, the Agent, the Nerevarine, the Hero of Kvatch, and the "Last" Dragonborn are actually the same Hero. Maybe I'll pursue that in another story, maybe not. I don't know._

 _Adding more trees to the area directly surrounding Helgen._

 _I just realized there is a continuity error concerning the beginning of the game. Ralof, when speaking with his sister Gerdur, claims that they were ambushed outside of Darkwater Crossing. Yet, the Dragonborn was trying to cross the border, I'm assuming_ into _Skyrim, and there is no border close to Darkwater Crossing. In addition, Lokir was trying to get to Hammerfell. Now, even if he is_ from _Rorikstead, he could've been traveling around and finally decided to cross the border into Hammerfell; however, why would he cross at the Skyrim-Riften/Morrowind border and not directly to Hammerfell through Falkreath? There is a border between Falkreath and Hammerfell and he does not like the Stormcloaks; therefore, he would have traveled through Imperial held Holds. Yet he was captured with you. Therefore, I'm assuming Ralof and Lokir are idiots and that, in order for all of this to make sense (including_ _the fact that the cart is traveling_ North _from the road near Greywater Grotto), the only place the Imperial ambush could have taken place is at the Skyrim-Falkreath/Cyrodiil-Bruma border._ _This opens up questions as to why the Stormcloaks were at the border in the first place... I'm assuming Ulfric was on his way to "speak" with the Emperor._

 _Since the children are maturing into teenagers, their speech will be more refined (little to no contractions, etc. etc.). I also took the liberty of altering some lines of dialogue to pre-existing characters._

 _"Wyverns" are described as two-legged dragons. Since Skyrim references "dragons" (I don't care what Akatosh looks like in Oblivion; even though Oblivion was much better than Skyrim story-wise, Dragon Age: Origins and Dragonheart implemented six-limbed/four-legged dragons_ before _Skyrim_ : _Bethesda could have done it too. A year after Skyrim, Dark Souls implemented Kalameet, so it_ is _possible._ ), _they will be big, traditional six-limbed/four-legged dragons, not wimpy mini wyverns. By "big", I mean, Alduin will be approximately 50 feet tall at the shoulders and about 150 feet long (using Dark Souls 2's Ancient Dragon for reference), the others will range between 35 - 60 feet tall and 105 - 180 feet in length (Paarthurnax is older than Alduin)._ _I don't know where people are assuming the Skyrim "dragons" are 40 - 45 meters tall when they are nowhere near that height (approximately two Dovahkiins stacked on top of each other match a "dragon's" full height in Skyrim, making them approximately 36 feet in length which is about 11 meters) and it would be nearly impossible (don't say magic) for a creature that size to survive (the tallest_ land _creature on Earth was the Brachiosaurus at 16 meters tall). However, I will suspend disbelief concerning their size, but not to_ that _extent._

 _Concerning ages, I am estimating Ulfric to be in his late forties, early fifties (assuming he fought in the Great War in 4E 171 around the age of 17). I am also assuming magic extends the lifespan of the races of Nirn. So, Ulfric is not a feeble old man, but a strong Nord (that would make him in his late thirties for comparison to Earth Humans. Honestly, how could a weak old man lead a rebellion so successfully?) I'm assuming the average Nord lifespan is at least 85._

 _The Main Quest begins on Sundas, the 17th of Last Seed in the Fourth Era in the year 201 (UESP: Lore:Calendar#Skyrim:Calendar). I am assuming it has been a few weeks since Ulfric killed High King Torygg._

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 _One year later._

Aventus inhaled through his nose, allowing his lungs to slowly fill to max capacity. Resisting the urge to squint an eye shut, he lined up the shot with his target. He angled the bow up slightly, after he remembered to compensate for distance. He exhaled through his mouth and released the arrow. It shot through the air, smashing tiny snowflakes as it zoomed towards its mark. The teenager lowered his bow and watched the arrow sail, wondering if it would strike. He blinked several times in surprise when a few seconds passed and his target was still standing. His green eyes darted around, searching for the burst of snow indicating where his arrow landed, but his efforts proved fruitless.

"Missed," a female voice giggled softly.

Turning to meet the owner of such words, Aventus snorted in disdain. "I am afraid I will never get the hang of this." he muttered.

Lucia smiled at him. "Do not give up hope so easily." The girl pulled back the drawstring on her longbow with ease and took aim. Aventus noted her form and deduced she had been practicing: her stance mirrored that of Jasia's now. Releasing a breath, she released the arrow and the pair stared at the target. The buck never raised its head in alarm. It fell to the ground as a corpse and Lucia shot a grin at her companion. "Ha!"

Rolling his eyes, the boy stood up. "Yes, yes." He jogged to the deer and allowed himself a smile. She had become the best archer within the group, with the exception of Jasia, and Aventus was proud to see her excel. Aventus reached the buck first and he began to field dress this morning's breakfast, pausing only to hand Lucia her wooden arrow.

"Where did your arrow land?" the blonde asked.

Aventus did not look up from his work. "I know not."

The girl hummed and as Aventus sliced skin from muscle, Lucia's footsteps receded, snow crunching softly beneath thick leather boots. By the time he placed the hide within his rucksack, his companion returned, a broad smirk spread across her face.

She held a wooden arrow up and twirled it between her fingers. "I have found it."

"Prove it is mine." Aventus challenged, unsure of whether she had truly located his projectile or had simply procured it from her own quiver. Lucia's smirk widened into a grin and she handed the arrow to the boy. He looked up from his work and his eyes flashed to the arrow's tail: black crow feathers sprouted from the end. Face falling to a grimace, Aventus sighed, "Where was it?"

"Only half a league from here." Aventus could hear the smile on her face from the tone of her voice.

The boy diverted his focus to the carcass: the buck was a fairly average size, it would feed them for a few days at least... if Hroar did not gorge himself. Aventus swore that boy was half troll, the way there was no end to his ravenous hunger. "You do not have to be rude."

"It is not rude if it is the truth," A girlish giggle sounded from Lucia once again. "Jasia would be laughing as well!"

The previous night, the group of fourteen year olds had left the woman who had been their mentor for an entire year. She had taken them over the Jerall Mountains, through the forests of Falkreath, to the shores of Lake Ilinalta, and back again. The Imperial taught them to hunt, start a fire, fletch arrows, and survive in the wilderness. However, they had traveled only through the Falkreath Hold, never anywhere else. The occasional trips to Helgen or the city of Falkreath itself were pleasant enough, but the teenagers wished to see the rest of the world... at least the rest of Skyrim.

And so, they parted ways. The Imperial made her way to Bloodlet Throne, the teenagers had camped just Northwest of the White Pass: the path through the Jerall Mountains to the Cyrodillic city of Bruma.

Aventus wrapped the cuts of venison within pieces of parchment followed by a layer of leather; in the cold weather, they would definitely hold until they returned to the camp. "Shall we depart?"

The Nordic girl smiled and the pair walked briskly to their destination. Neither spoke a word, each content with simply the company of the other as they walked beneath the tall pines. Aventus glanced at Lucia for just a moment, the girl tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. He had come to admire her skill in the past few weeks as well as the closeness of becoming her hunting partner... and he could not help but notice how pretty she looked in the fitted fur armor Hroar had made for her.

"Is something the matter?" Emerald green eyes caught his and Aventus snapped his head away in embarrassment.

"It is nothing."

Out of the corner of his eye, the boy saw the girl touch her face. "Do I have something on my face?"

Aventus laughed and shook his head. "No, Lucia. There is nothing on your face."

"Then why were you staring at me!?"

"With the way you two banter," the pair twisted their heads at the sound of a new voice. A Redguard boy jumped from the boughs of a thick pine, landing onto the show in a crouched position. "I am surprised you catch anything."

Lucia smiled. "It is comforting to know you have such faith in us, Al."

A twinkle sparked in Alesan's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something when Hroar's voice sounded instead. "What did you catch today?" The blonde boy ducked beneath the low-hanging branches of the pine Alesan had been perched in mere moments before.

Shaking his head, Aventus chuckled. "By Talos, I swear, if an Altmer cook on Summerset Isle announced it was time for dinner, _you_ would hear it!" The four pushed aside the branches to enter the group's camp. Nine fur-lined leather tents closely encircled a single fire within the small clearing in the copse of pines. Already, Samuel, Runa, Blaise, and Sofie were packing away the tents. Francois stood idly by, arms folded across his chest and sulking: avoiding work, as was the norm. Aventus furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Must we pack up at this time? Certainly we could wait a moment."

Samuel lifted his face to meet the other boy's gaze. His eyes then shifted to Alesan. "Show him, Al. We will join you in a moment."

The other Imperial turned to the Redguard, a stern expression crossed the latter's face. He waved for the returning hunters to follow. Hroar protested, "But what about breakfast!?" before he was shushed by Runa.

Aventus caught Lucia's eye, her visage of wariness and perturbation mirrored his own. Ever since they had joined Jasia, Samuel had taken on the role of protector for the group: always concerned with the group's well being and safety. Only something deeply disturbing could have set him on edge, and Aventus was not sure he wanted to discover what such a thing could be.

The three crossed the dilapidated cobblestone road leading from the White Pass to Helgen and clambered up onto a ridge. Alesan simply pointed.

"What _is_ that?" Aventus inquired. The snow had been cleared around the site, exposing a circle of dirt, nearly 60 feet in diameter which was ringed by four rows of square stone. The stones descended down the slope and grew larger as they spread out from the center of the circle.

"That is what we were wondering," Samuel's voice called. The other six had caught up with them and Samuel threw the trio their tents. "What do you make of it?"

While Lucia shook her head, dumbfounded, Aventus began to traipse around the mound. "It reminds me of the ruins just Northwest of Falkreath. Jasia had called it a Nordic shelter."

"Do you think this could be a Nordic ruin?" Runa suggested.

Samuel shook his head. "The ruins were not packed in with dirt and snow like this one."

A clamor of voices pricked each pair of ears and the nine fell silent. With a single, slight tilt of his head, Aventus indicated for Alesan to determine the source of the disturbance. The Redguard climbed onto the rock outcrop as the others fell into a crouched position. A moment later, Alesan returned. "Imperial Legion, coming from the White Pass. They seem to have picked up a few criminals attempting to cross the border."

"They will be on their way to Helgen then." Aventus concluded.

Sofie shot the boy a confused look. "Why do you say that?"

"It is the closest town." The boy shrugged in response.

Samuel shot a warning glance at Aventus. "I do not think it is wise to meddle in the affairs of the Empire."

"We are already on our way there," the Imperial looked to the others, attempting to convince them. "And we will not be meddling, simply... _observing_."

The other Imperial simpered, Aventus grinned in victory, he knew Samuel could not argue with that. After all, they were not getting involved... Before anyone could speak another word of protest, Aventus dashed from the undergrowth and began to lead his friends to Helgen. They kept low and quiet as they climbed over the hill and took to the road. At the fork, they headed down the Western path, until a game trail appeared on the side of the road. "Are we not traveling by road?" Samuel whispered as the raven-haired boy led them down the trail.

"I had said we were not to get involved. What better way _not_ to than by _not_ entering Helgen?" Aventus shot a grin at his best friend. They turned North abruptly as the teen remembered the bear cave not far from their current location. They reached the rock ridge and he smirked. Once they climbed to the top of the obstacle, they would have a clear view of Helgen. He reached up and scaled the stone, too excited to wait for the others. Leading the way, he made sure to test each hold before placing his full weight on: it may have been solid stone, but he was not too keen on entrusting the rock gods his life.

By the time they reached the top, the carts had begun rolling in through the Eastern gates. "Look!" Francois gasped in either shock or excitement, Aventus was not entirely sure. There were two carts, each driven by a pair of Imperial Legion soldiers. On either side of each cart were four more soldiers.

"Whomever they captured must be important." Blaise muttered, squinting and shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun to get a better view of the prisoners.

Four Nords were bound in either cart. The first cart had two men and two women, the glint of chainmail shone on their upper arms while leather and fur covered every other part of them. Long, azure blue shawls hung from their shoulders. With a start, Aventus realized they were guards from his hometown: Windhelm.

His eyes darted to the second cart. Yet another Windhelm guard sat as prisoner, beside him was a thin Nord in rags and across from the former was a long-haired blonde man. The last man in the cart was broad-shouldered and cloaked in black. Aventus did not need to see his face to know the identity of the man. "That is Ulfric Stormcloak." The boy blinked in surprise, not realizing he had opened his mouth.

"What!?" Francois exclaimed.

"Are you sure?" Samuel ignored the Breton, his voice was low and stern.

"As sure as we are in Skyrim, Sam." Aventus did not take his eyes off of the man. The boy remembered seeing the Jarl of Windhelm recite the names of the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor during the Feast of the Dead held every year. The memory of the tall, powerful, and proud man burned in Aventus' mind; and even now, the Nord looked like a caged bear, ready to tear into his foes at the first opportunity.

The carts creaked through Helgen, looping around to the tower in the center of the town. Aventus strained to hear the booming voices of the Imperial soldiers. "Get these prisoners out of the cart!" a female Captain yelled. The men and women from the first cart began to exit.

"What will be their fate?" Lucia looked to Aventus for reassurance.

Eyes flashing from the bound guards to the hooded man in black wielding a halberd and standing beside an indented wooden block, the teen did not have any kind words to offer her.

"Step towards the block when we call your name! One at a time!" the Imperial Captain spat at the prisoners. Aventus' mind raced, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that would justify such treatment. What had these men and women done to deserve this?

Another Imperial said something Aventus did not hear, but Ulfric departed the cart. The Imperial stated something else, and the Windhelm guard followed after his Jarl. The thin Nord jumped to his feet and began to scream, "No! I am not a rebel! You cannot do this!" He vaulted off the cart and barreled back up the path.

"He is running!" Sofie breathed, her face paling in fear.

"Halt!" the female Captain howled after the man. Several bowmen readied their weapons.

Lucia snapped her head to Aventus. "What will happen to...?"

"You will not kill me!" The Nord called back, almost as a taunt.

"Avert your eyes, Lucia." Aventus' eyes remained locked on the escaping prisoner.

With a raised finger, the Captain simply ordered, "Archers!" The bowmen quickly pulled back their drawstrings and released a volley of arrows into the Nord. With a yelp, he fell to the ground.

He was dead.

Aventus felt Lucia shudder in revulsion beside him.

"Anyone else feel like running!?" The Imperial Captain turned her back on the man her men had mutilated and stood tall before the remaining prisoners.

The final prisoner stepped off of the cart. With a mighty, outlandish roar, the man spoke, "WHY AM I A PRISONER!? WHAT DID I DO!?" His accent reminded Aventus of Jasia. No one seemed to register he had said anything, and the next time Aventus glanced at the Nord, his long, blonde hair had shortened to his shoulders and darkened to brown.

Words seemed to be exchanged, and the man took his place beside the other prisoners. A silver haired Imperial man, fully armored in fine, gilded, Imperial armor approached Ulfric and spoke. Aventus noticed a band of black obscuring the Jarl's mouth: he had been gagged. Alesan noticed it too. "Why have they prevented him from speaking, and not the others?"

"Ulfric wields the power of the Thu'um," Aventus explained. "He was tutored by the Greybeards at High Hrothgar." It was a tale all children in Windhelm knew.

A grating, other-worldly sound echoed down onto the orphans. "What was that?" Hroar whimpered. The gathering in Helgen seemed to hear it as well, their heads craning this way and that in an attempt to locate the sound.

The Imperial Captain barked something and a priestess began reciting a verse of some sort. "She is giving them their last rights." Samuel stated coldly.

"What did they do to deserve such treatment?" Sofie's voice wavered with anguish: she had never liked to see others in peril.

"We should depart." Blaise proposed.

A Windhelm guard strode forward, pushing past the priestess and up to the executioner's block. Aventus looked to Ulfric again, surely they could not execute him. Almost as if he had heard his thoughts, the Jarl looked up to the crag the teenagers had perched upon. He locked eyes with the boy and sent Aventus what could only be described as a look. The guard lowered himself onto the block willingly, almost daring the executioner to take off his head. The man garbed in black obliged. He raised his halberd above his head.

"I cannot watch." Lucia mewled.

The executioner brought his weapon down swiftly, taking the man's head off in a single, clean blow. A bound female guard wailed with fury while a few townsfolk jeered in approval. A moment passed as the Captain continued to snarl out orders.

The strange sound echoed off the rocks again, and sent everyone's head spinning once again. The Nord who had called out before approached the block and bellowed, "WHY CAN'T I MOVE!? I'M NOT GOING TO THE BLOCK! STOP! STOP! DO YOU WANT TO DIE, MAN!?" Ignoring his inane babbling, the Captain pushed him onto the block before the executioner.

"Come, Aventus." Samuel insisted.

A shadow passed over the teens. Aventus snapped his head up in confusion, no bird could cast a shadow that large. A great, black, winged beast plunged down onto the center tower, crushing it nearly to the ground beneath its massive weight. The beast's scales were sharp and jutted out, it reminded Aventus of a humongous Argonian with wings. Eyes as red as Oblivion itself burned intensely, staring down at the assembly. Two curved horns sprouted from the top of its head and the boy blanched with fear at the realization of what the creature was.

It was a dragon.

The dragon sucked in a breath and released an ear-shattering roar. Aventus flinched in pain, gnashing his teeth together and clenching his fists to prevent himself from crying out. Lucia and Sofie screams of agony harmonized with the dragon's barrage and the girls clutched their ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blood trailing down their faces. Aventus knew he should run, that he should lead the others to safety and escape. And yet, his eyes could not leave the site of the creature. Whether it was in awe or horror, he did not know. The monster opened its maw once again and flames erupted from between its jaws, igniting the thatched roofs of the Helgen buildings.

It took to the air and circled around the town, billowing flames out onto the surrounding forest. Men and women screamed from Helgen as the fire engulfed their homes and scorched their bodies. The prisoners and Imperials scrambled for cover, yelling and shrieking in fear and stumbling over one another, not caring for their allies. Horses screeched, attempting to flee from the conflagration yet they were still fastened to the blazing carts.

"Aventus!" Samuel's scream snapped Aventus out of his stupor and he whirled around to see the other boy ushering their friends down the precipice. The raven-haired boy scrambled after them. A sudden rush of heat and flame chased after Aventus and he dove into the cover of the trees. The great pines creaked and cracked and snapped as fire roared through their trunks. One crashed to the ground a few feet beside the Imperial boy and he looked up to see another attempting to join its companion.

He heard Lucia call out to him, but her voice was soon cut short. The girl disappeared from view as the tree hurtled to the ground. The boy threw himself out of the way and the tree smashed into the forest floor. Aventus pushed himself off of the ground and looked around, desperately searching for his friends. The forest was on fire.

"Sam! Lucia!" he called. The roar and crackle and snap of the flames were the only response he received. He looked to the ground, but he could not find any sign of their escape: no footprints, no discarded clothes or belongings. Another pine threatened to fall onto him and the boy chose a direction and bolted. He flew through trees, vaulting over obstacles. His lungs began to fill with smoke and he felt his insides were on fire. He coughed and ran, pushing through the pain. A bear and a few rabbits raced around him, struggling to escape the inferno as well.

Not stopping, Aventus stuck to the direction he had chosen as best he could, ducking and weaving through the forest falling down around him. He had to get out of the endless torrent of flames. Fire kissed his skin and Aventus' fur jacket caught flame. Suddenly, the ground fell out beneath him and he tumbled down a hill and onto the cobblestone road. His head smashed against the stone and blood filled his mouth, but the flames admonished to consume him. Lunging into the snow, he rolled and rolled, praying the fire would die. He was breathless and nauseated by the time he no longer felt his flesh searing.

Head spinning, he rose to his feet and looked down the road. The forest burning around him and the adrenaline pounding through his limbs, Aventus could not determine where he was. He decided to run to the left and followed the road; either way, it would lead him somewhere. He sprinted, pushing himself beyond his limits. He could not stop. He _would_ not stop. Overhead, the shadow passed once more and Aventus snapped his head around to follow the movement.

He smashed into something and fell onto the road, head cracking against the stone once again. A man's voice growled, "Boy, you best pray to Talos." Two hands closed around his upper arms and lifted him to his feet. Aventus stared up at the man through his blurred vision and instantly recognized the blue of his uniform.

"Hold, Eris," a broad-shouldered man garbed in black strode to the pair. He looked down at the boy and his eyes flashed. "What are you called, boy?"

"Aventus Aretino." He stood up straight, blinking several times to clear his sight.

A few murmurs spread throughout the group but were silenced by Ulfric's gaze. "I remember you. Your mother's passing filled me with grief."

Aventus said nothing, not believing the man's statement. If Ulfric had felt as he had claimed, certainly the Jarl could have prevented his trip to Honorhall. The Jarl could have taken him under his wing and trained him as a ward of Windhelm. The Jarl could have helped him. Instead, he had been thrown into the orphanage and left to rot, left to be forgotten, destined to be nothing more than an ill memory.

Somewhere in the distance, the dragon roared once again and Ulfric's men spun around, searching for the beast, yet trembling in their boots.

"Jarl Ulfric," another Windhelm guard approached, his voice was steady, yet the terror was evident in his eyes. "We cannot linger. We must depart immediately."

Ulfric locked eyes with Aventus once again. After a moment of pause, the tall Nord nodded once. "Bring him."

The guards knew better than to protest, but Aventus was not finished. "And where would be our destination?"

"Home, boy." The Jarl never looked back.

* * *

 _ **The semester is**_ **finally _over! I'll try to post twice a week, thinking Tuesdays and Thursdays since nothing ever happens on Tuesdays and I've been posting on Thursdays anyways. Now, that_ is _United States' reckoning, so I apologize for it being on Fridays for some of you. But! I will post the new chapter as soon as I wake up, so hopefully it's not too late for everyone. If all goes well, this_ should _be the schedule until the new semester starts in August (yay college)._**

 ** _I don't plan on this dying, so you all can rest assured this will not stop unless - heaven forbid - I die or get deathly ill or some tragedy happens._**

 ** _If you don't like the new speech patterns, PM me! Seriously! I'm trying to go for a more "medievaly" feel, but if it's too weird, let me know!_**

 ** _And if you couldn't tell, vanilla Skyrim_ really _pisses_ _me off. I won't push my opinion onto you, I'll just let the work of modders and fanfic authors speak for themselves. But, hey, if you like vanilla, good for you._**

 _ **As always, PM me or write a review so I can answer questions, comments, or concerns, and thanks for reading! You guys are awesome!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

 _Since the Forsworn are such a big problem in The Reach, I'm assuming Jarl Igmund has agreed to work with the Bretons of High Rock to eradicate them._

 _I am also readding Mysticism for the schools of magic. So the schools are Alchemy (blue), Alteration (gold), Conjuration (purple), Destruction (red), Illusion (green), Mysticism (pink), and Restoration (white). Colors are for reference._

 _For future reference, using Journeyman instead of Adept to indicate a profession but not quite at the level of Expert (e.g. Blacksmith in contrast to an Adept mage)._

 _Using UESP's Breton Names article for references on, well, names._

 _Changing Runa's backstory since she doesn't have much of one._

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

"Runa, I am _starving_!" Hroar complained, despite the fact the two of them had eaten breakfast merely an hour before.

Runa grimaced, not bothering to mask the indignation she felt. "You ate two whole foxes. _Two_. And Falkreath is still in view! I believe you can hold until lunch." It had been three days since the attack on Helgen. The pair had been separated from the group not long after they lost Aventus. The two of them had arrived in Falkreath the day before to gather supplies for their trip.

Before Runa was sent to Honorhall, she lived in Markarth with her parents. One day, her mother disappeared and a few days later, she was sent to Riften by her father. He had not explained why, but even at her young age, Runa understood the fear in his eyes. The orphans at Honorhall had become her family, but now that they were torn asunder, she knew if anyone could help her, it would be her father. And so, Hroar and Runa began their long journey to Markarth.

Still, despite spending a few days in each other's company, Hroar was beginning to irk Runa. It had been simple to ignore his antics before; but now, when they were alone together, Runa found his quirks maddening. Between snoring through the entire night, the only conversation topic in his interest or arsenal concerned food, having no sense of personal hygiene, and his neverending hunger, Runa found herself seriously considering strangling her friend.

"When will _that_ be?" his lower lip quivered in distress.

Shaking her head, the girl ignored the boy's pleas. If they ate or hunted at every point Hroar was hungry, they would be stuck in Falkreath until the end of days. They did not have enough rations to fill the boy's stomach, and Runa was resolved to hunt after they had made camp, not before nor when they were on the road. They traveled west at the fork as they reached Lake Ilinalta and Hroar fell silent as he recognized the familiar site. Runa rejoiced at the sudden shortage of words from the boy and reveled in the respite.

The sound of jeers and laughter reached the girl's ears. Turning, a band of men and women dressed in flowing, vibrant robes of green, red, blue, gold, purple, pink, and white turned west and sauntered down the road after the teenagers. Runa squinted and noted how each had pale skin and a build much slighter than that of the Nords they had encountered.

Not knowing who they might be, she was about to urge Hroar to pick up the pace when the boy cried out, "FOOD!" Whirling around, Runa turned just in time to see the boy's golden hair flash into the undergrowth in pursuit of some unseen creature.

"Hroar!" she yelled with rage and chased after her companion. Runa prayed to the Divines the iceskull was at least intelligent enough to hound after big game like a deer, but she reminded herself this was Hroar. The Nord was just as eager to tear into a rabbit as he was into a cut of venison. It was not difficult to track the boy, his bellows and whoops were just as noticeable as the path he shredded through the woods.

A triumphant roar echoed through the forest and Runa pushed back a branch, revealing the boy and his quarry: a rabbit. Hroar was already field dressing the corpse, his face beaming with pride. Runa's shoulders slumped in defeat. "You ran a _rabbit_ off the side of the road?"

"Yes! Now, let us eat!" Hroar held up his prize.

"You can eat it on the road," Runa conceded, "But we are _not_ stopping to start a fire."

Hroar's smile fell from his face. "Why not?"

Rolling her eyes in exasperation Runa refused to justify her decision. "Let us go, Hroar."

The boy pouted but conceded. He stood and the two of them began to retrace their steps back to the road. Several low, throaty growls were audible and Runa immediately recognized the threat: wolves. She knew they could not defeat a large pack, especially not in the dense forest where they could be ambushed from any side. But if they made it to the road, it would at least be open and perhaps the group she had seen just before would aid them.

"Hroar, follow!" she hissed and without waiting for a response, she darted back towards the road and through the wreckage her companion had wreaked only seconds before. Runa could hear the wolves in pursuit, but she could not hear Hroar. Turning, she heaved a sigh when she saw the boy easily striding beside her. Despite his voracity, he had always been one of the strongest and fittest of the group. Over the past year they had spent with Jasia, Hroar had grown to be the tallest and most muscular of the group, towering even over some adults.

A blaze of black leapt in front of them and Runa skidded to a halt, coming face to face with the wolf. It snapped its jaws and she jerked back, retaining her nose. A mighty bellow thundered beside her and Hroar swung his greataxe down onto the beast. With a yelp of pain, the weapon stuck halfway into the wolf's neck, almost severing its head. Hroar jerked the weapon upward, attempting to free it, but he was not strong enough. Runa kicked the dying animal off of the nearly six foot long weapon and bolted. Hroar may have been growing up to be a strong Nord, but Runa was still stronger.

The other wolves howled in fury and nipped at the pair's heels. Runa pivoted on her foot and brandished her mace, not breaking her stride. The brown wolves barked and yipped, lunging forward every so often in an attempt to catch a bite off one of the teenagers. The girl aimed to smash her weapon down onto a wolf's head but it evaded the attack and bounded forward, driving the girl onto her back and slamming her head into the ground.

Struggling to free her mace from beneath the beast, Runa kicked the wolf's ribs and drove her free hand's fingers into its eye sockets. The canine yowled in pain and ventured to close its teeth around her neck. The girl lifted up her shoulder, electing a bite in that location rather than at her jugular. Its fangs cut through her hide armor and pierced to the bone. It began to jerk its head back and forth, driving its teeth further into her flesh and riving her muscles apart.

Runa screamed in dolor, still unable to free her weapon. She was trapped and through the pain, she felt a swell of blinding furor wash over her. She was about to be eaten by a wolf, how pathetic was that?

The wolf yelped and released the girl's shoulder. It stood and Runa yanked her free hand back, fingers still slippery with blood and saline and rheum. She tore the mace out from under the wolf and struck its skull. In that instant, Runa's eyes flashed to a shard of ice, nearly as long as her forearm, sticking out of the wolf's side. The wolf fell to the cobblestone road and Runa lifted the mace above her head, hammering the blunt weapon into the beast repeatedly; her rage coursed through her arms, fueling her efforts.

It was not until a torrent of fire sped past her that she stopped her onslaught. She recoiled, remembering the heat of the dragon's flames, and spun around, blanching at the idea of a facing such a creature in combat. To her relief, the flames erupted from the palm of a woman clothed in snowberry red robes. The fire crashed into the rest of the pack and the fetor of burning hair and searing flesh wafted into Runa's nostrils.

"MEAT!" To Runa's horror, Hroar pounced onto the smoking carcasses, tearing flesh from bone like a sabrecat. Runa pinched her nose in exasperation. Was there no end to his asininity?

When Runa looked up, she saw seven mages, each dressed in a different color robe, staring at Hroar in mixed emotions ranging from amazement to revulsion. "I apologize for my companion's behavior." the girl began, approaching the strangers. "We are truly grateful for your aid."

The woman in red tore her eyes away from the scene before her and gazed at Runa. "But of course, it is always a pleasure to aid someone in need." Runa noticed the angular features of the group, specifically their high cheekbones, and she concluded they were a company of Breton mages.

"What brings you to Skyrim?" Runa asked, ignoring the chomping of her friend.

"We were bequeathed by King Dunard of Jehanna to force the self-proclaimed 'Reachmen' to relinquish their hold on The Reach Hold of Skyrim," the Breton in blue spoke eloquently, despite the presence of butterfly wings hanging from his teeth. "Our efforts in High Rock have been most lucrative and King Dunard speculates a competent flanking maneuver will decimate their numbers as well as rally others in Skyrim to join our cause." As he spoke, he looked down his nose at her and his demeanor gave off a haughty air as if he was some all-powerful, all-knowing being.

The girl resisted the urge to introduce her mace to his jaw. "Then you are off to see the Jarl? To offer your assistance?" Runa remembered the threat of the Forsworn when she was a child and her mind wondered at how such a hazard was allowed to continue on. Until now, that was.

"Precisely." The woman in green robes smiled kindly.

"Young miss," the young man in white robes stepped forward. "If I may?" He gestured to Runa's left shoulder.

Looking down, Runa remembered the wolf bite she had suffered. "Please." she acceded to his request.

The young man took her hand and led her to a stone. "If you will sit down, for me?" Runa obliged and the man placed his hand on her shoulder. She stifled a wince of pain but he noticed. "Do not fret, miss, the pain will not last." A golden glow emitted from his hands and warmth flooded into her wound. Runa smiled as the pain subsided and she looked at the man. His eyes were blue, like Samuel's, and he did not look to be much older than her. When he was finished he held her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. "There, good as new!"

"Thank you, sir." Runa nodded.

"Of course, miss." he smiled.

Clearing her throat, the woman in pink spoke up. "Well, if that is all, we must be going." The mage in white robes looked a bit disappointed at the statement.

"If you are heading to Markarth, perhaps we could come along as well. We too are headed to Markarth." Runa suggested.

The young man's smile returned and he looked to the man in gold robes for a response. The older man glanced from Runa to Hroar and his lip curled slightly in disdain.

"I am afraid my companion has an avid appetite," the girl tried to explain. "Been like that ever since we were children." She tried to laugh it off, hoping the mages would not leave the two of them behind. If the two of them could not defend themselves against a pack of wolves without help, they surely would not be able to fend off the Forsworn living in the hills and mountains of The Reach.

"The two of you are close?" he queried, looking back at Runa.

"Yes sir, he is like a brother to me," Runa fell silent for a moment before muttering, "Actually, we are all that is left of our family now." The girl stared at the simple boy who was still chowing down on the burned wolves. As if he noticed he was the subject of observation, Hroar gazed up and smiled at Runa. It would have been a sweet expression, if blood had not been dripping down his chin.

The man in gold ran his eyes over the two of them one last time before stating, "Very well." He threw his head forward and the woman in red took point, followed by the men in purple and blue. The lead mage in gold motioned for Runa to follow after them.

Runa hurried after the trio and patted Hroar's shoulder. "It is time to depart, Hroar."

Uttering something inane, the boy ripped a few pieces of flesh from the final wolf and fell into step behind his friend, carrying the bloody chunks in his hands.

The young man in white robes walked beside Runa. "I am called Andoryan Masterson." He extended a hand out to her.

"I am Runa, Runa Fair-Shield." She accepted his hand, presuming he was simply going to shake it. Instead, he brought her hand up to his lips and planted a kiss on the back of her hand. Blushing fiercely, Runa took her hand back and stared forward.

Andoryan chuckled and continued. "I am an Adept Restoration Mage." he gestured to the collar on his robe as well as the sash extending diagonally from his right shoulder to his left hip. "Gwynolda Wickham is our Expert Destruction Mage," he nodded to the woman in red, "Elayne Hawking is our Expert in Illusion," the woman in green smiled once again at Runa, "Vyctyn Coppering is our Mysticism Adept," the woman in pink glared hard at Runa and the Nord pushed her mouth the the side of her face in confusion. "Uthane Ashford is the Master of Alteration and the leader of our band," the man in gold robes nodded simply, "Edwistair Moorsly is our Expert of Conjuration", Andoryan motioned to the man in purple, "And Perynak Gaerton is our Expert on Alchemy." The man in blue continued to chew on bits of plant life.

Runa tried to memorize their names, reciting them continuously in her head. She was not sure whether to reference them by their first name or their last name. She did not want to appear rude, yet she also did not want them all to look down on her as Perynak and Vyctyn already did.

"And you," Andoryan's voice scattered Runa's thoughts and brought her attention back to the conversation at hand. "What is your profession?"

Scratching her head, Runa tried to think of the words to use. "Well... I suppose I am a hunter."

"If that is the case, I cannot imagine you spending much time in society." The woman in pink robes sauntered beside Andoryan, her eyes darted to the other mage almost as if she was searching for approval. Andoryan did not spare her a glance.

Runa continued slowly, "We did occasionally visit settlements and towns, but for the most part, we simply camped out in the forest."

"How dreadful!" Her overtly concerned tone made Runa uneasy.

The Nord shrugged. "It was not too awful. We were all together and every day we learned something new. We were much happier than when..." Runa cut herself short, unsure if she could trust these strangers with such a secret.

"Than when...?" Andoryan asked softly.

Runa bit her lower lip, mind racing to finish the sentence.

"Than when?" Vyctyn demanded much more loudly than her companion.

"We were in Riften." The girl replied without thinking. She silently cursed herself. What would happen to the two Nords if they were discovered to be the runaway orphans from Honorhall? Would guards from The Rift chase after them? Would they be left in peace? Strictly speaking, they were not, and still not, old enough to live by themselves... and yet here they were in the wilderness surviving on their own.

" _You_ lived in Riften?" The female Breton's voice was hostile, as if she did not believe the other girl.

Andoryan cut off Vyctyn. "You have traveled a long way from home, Miss Fair-Shield."

Runa shook her head. "No, actually, we have not."

The young man tilted his head, "What do you mean?"

Turning to look at Hroar, Runa saw the boy stuffing his face with the bloody bits of meat. She snorted, half-laughing, and continued, "Home is where my family is. My family is not in Riften anymore."

"Where are they now?" Andoryan inquired.

Runa sighed and looked up into the clear, blue sky. Samuel, Aventus, Lucia, Sofie, Blaise, Alesan, and Francois, where were they? Runa was not sure, but she prayed to the Divines they were at least safe. She turned her eyes back to the road, hoping it would lead her to them someday. "I do not know."

* * *

 _ **If you want super awesome, vibrant robes for your mages, check out "Opulent Outifts - Mage Robes of Winterhold v4" by MangoMonkey on the Nexus.**_

 _ **I'm not going to lie, this chapter was hard. Couldn't decide if I wanted to check in with Lucia during the aftermath of Helgen or just jump into something more interesting.**_ _ **I hope this wasn't too boring, things'll get better in the next chapter.**_

 _ **Thanks guys for reading! Remember: write a review or PM me if you have any questions, comments, or concerns!**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

 _I am assuming Haming was picked up by the Imperial Legion and did not magically end up with his grandfather in The Rift._

 _Also, it would make sense for other races and genders to join the Imperial Legion and not just male Imperials._

 _As a reminder, I am aging up_ all _children. This includes Haming from Helgen and Minette Vinius, Svari, Knud, and Kayd from Solitude._

 _Since the Imperial Legion is based in Solitude, I am also assuming they have a major Imperial camp settled outside of Solitude._

 _Also making Dragon Bridge a more lively and bigger town._

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

"Halt!" The cart rolled to a stop, jostling Blaise and Sofie awake. The first orange rays of sunlight peaked over the Winterhold mountains in the east and splashed onto the passengers. Samuel had not slept much on the journey, he had been awake since their arrival in Rorikstead. The Imperial soldiers had almost killed the horses to reach the sprawling farming community and they had only stopped to allow the animals just enough respite to ensure their survival. As soon as they were able to run again, the carts and soldiers were off again as well.

The first cart held the teenagers Blaise, Sofie, Samuel, and Haming, a boy from the town of Helgen. After Samuel had led his friends to the safety of the road, the Legion stormed out of Helgen, stopping only to pick up the teenagers. It was then Samuel realized all that was left of his friends were Blaise and Sofie, and he feared the others had been consumed in the fire. The second cart carried new recruits for the Imperial Legion, several men and women they had picked up along the road.

From the brief conversations held between the soldiers, the man leading the party was General Tullius. He had been the man with short silver hair, the one who had spoken to Ulfric Stormcloak just before the dragon had attacked.

Samuel turned his attention to the General, who now speaking with the two men who had stopped the entourage. They stood before a great stone bridge, the spires protruding into the sky along its length and the bridge's gentle slope reminded the boy of spikes lining a dragon's spine. In the center of the bridge stood an archway, and a stone carving of a dragon's skull acted as the keystone. Two more stone dragon skulls rested on the lower portions of the archway, covering the section connecting the arch to the bridge.

"Dragon Bridge," Blaise softly proclaimed. "We are nearing Solitude."

"Your old home." Sofie whispered back, glancing at the boy.

The Imperial shook his head. "No, it was never my home. Just a place to rest my head and work."

Samuel looked back to the men at the head of the procession. The two men guarding the bridge entrance saluted their commanding officer and stepped aside. General Tullius kicked his horse, urging it into a trot. The cart horses followed and the now familiar sound of creaking wooden wheels and hoofbeats clopping on stone returned to the air. Water rushed and crashed against rocks beneath them. Samuel kept his eyes straight ahead, resisting the urge to look up and gawk at the stone skulls as his companions did. He knew he had to keep his mind focused, if he wanted to see the rest of his friends again.

The town of Dragon Bridge comprised of several houses, a lumber mill, an inn, a blacksmith, and a general store. It was not nearly as large as Riften, but it was at least bigger than Rorikstead. Neither men nor women looked up at the cortege; obviously, Legion soldiers were a common sight to the townspeople.

As the road turned to the east, the General slowed his horse and fell into step beside the cart. "We are approaching Solitude. Once there, you can decide how you can aid the Legion. We are in need of blacksmiths, but if you cannot wield a hammer, there are crops to be tended and fish to be caught."

"Last I was here," Blaise spoke up, "Katla was the only farmer, and her fields were modest."

The man turned to the boy, his brown eyes assessing before he replied, "Solitude has grown much since the war. The Imperial Legion _must_ be fed."

Steel clanging against steel reached their ears, chorused by the sound of men yelling at one another. Thousands of tents lined the side of the road, cramped together in the meager space. With hardly any room to train, soldiers resorted to dueling upon the road itself. Men and women of practically all races were garbed in the brown leather of the Imperial Legion.

Bretons and High Elves cast fire, ice, and lightning at one another; a few Wood Elves took aim at straw targets; Khajiits and Argonians sharpened their knives alongside their claws; Nords and Imperials crossed axes, hammers, and swords; and Dark Elves alternated between casting fire and honing their blades. A few squads of soldiers practiced marching up and down the cobblestone road. As the General passed the soldiers, they ceased all actions and saluted their leader. The silver-haired man kept his eyes forward, only glancing once or twice to a few Captains.

"Are we to join the Imperial Legion, sir?" Haming inquired. He kept his eyes on the men sparring in the road, no doubt he had imagined himself as an Imperial soldier as a child.

"That is up to you. We are not forcing you to do anything you do not wish to do. However, if you do not wish to be begging on the streets, it would be in your best interest to find a way to contribute." With that, the General spurred his horse forward to lead the column once more.

Sofie, Blaise, and Samuel shared a look. Each knew firsthand what it would be like to beg and attempt to survive in a city.

"You two will stay here." Samuel whispered to his friends.

"And what of you," Sofie asked. "What will you do?"

Samuel's eyes flashed to the men marching on the road.

Shoulders slumping, Sofie shook her head. "No!"

"We have lost the others, Sam. We cannot lose you as well." Blaise insisted.

"Who else will find our friends? If I go, I can find them. I _will_ find them," the gray-eyed boy promised. "I will return, _with_ our friends." Samuel turned his eyes back to the road. He knew he could find the others and he would not let anything get in his way.

The cart was silent as they passed through the great gates of Solitude. Blaise and Sofie knew there was no changing Samuel's mind and Haming had simply stared at the soldiers for the remainder of the ride.

"Right," an Imperial Captain announced. "New recruits, head up the hill to Castle Dour. The rest, follow me."

Samuel jumped out of the cart and smiled to his friends, attempting to reassure them. Blaise and Sofie nodded and followed after the Imperial Captain. Samuel sucked in a breath and released it before following after the recruits. A few men in the back muttered to one another, but they said nothing directly to Samuel or Haming trailing behind. For all they knew, the boys wanted revenge on the Stormcloaks for their families. Samuel remembered Blaise mentioning his parents had been Imperial soldiers killed during an ambush, probably by bandits since the war with the Stormcloaks had not started all those years ago. Sofie's father was a Windhelm guard before the war and had never returned, Samuel guessed he had abandoned her as Runa's parents had left her.

He wondered where she was and whether or not she was alright. Samuel knew she was a strong young lady, he just hoped her determined and stubborn attitude would not get her into any unnecessary trouble.

Men and women bustled past the group, some were merchants or farmers bringing their goods to the market or to Castle Dour for distribution while others were Imperial couriers riding on horses and carrying messenger bags. The group marched past a well and beneath an arched rampart. They passed the Bards College and made their way up the hill. A man's bark rang out over the hubbub, yelling and screaming orders.

"That would be our Prefect," an Imperial man murmured to a woman beside him. "He will be responsible for training us."

"Oh yeah," a Nord challenged, "How do _you_ know?"

The Imperial straightened up. "My father served in the Legion. I am continuing his legacy."

"Of being a pompous ass?" a Breton woman mumbled to no one in particular.

When they reached Castle Dour, a single mouse eye locked onto the new recruits. "Fresh meat!" The Orc charged forward and Samuel noticed the battle scars marring his face: three thin, white scars scratched vertically from his left eyebrow down to his jaw. His left eye was milk white. "Form up!" he ordered.

The recruits stumbled into one another and Samuel had to shove the Nord out of his way to get a place in line.

The Prefect stared down the boy, his upper lip curled up into an expression of a snarl. "What in Oblivion is a _boy_ like you doing here?" He strode up to Samuel. "What makes you think you are worthy of joining the Legion?"

"I want to serve, sir!" Samuel improvised.

"So did my grandmother, boy," he snorted, "and she is nearly ninety." He debouched down the line. "If we accepted _every_ man and woman..." he paused and looked back at Samuel and Haming, "and _boy, we_ would have a lot of dead soldiers who tried to be heroes."

Samuel refused to allow this man to intimidate him. "I do not want to be a hero, sir. I just want to do my part."

"Where are you from, boy?" The officer demanded.

The boy chewed his lower lip. "I was picked up at Helgen, sir."

The other recruits exchanged gasps and whispered amongst one another, a few leaned in or back to get a look at the boy; obviously they had heard of the incident. Their chatter was silenced immediately when the Prefect shot a glare down the line. "So then you are from Helgen then?"

"No," Haming squeaked. "I am from Helgen."

"Was I speaking to _you_ , boy!?" The Prefect snapped.

"I lived in the forests of Falkreath, sir." Samuel explained.

The officer looked back at Samuel. "But you were picked up at Helgen?"

"Yes sir. After the dragon..." The boy silenced himself, unsure if he should disclose any further information.

Standing up straighter, the man asked, "You saw it?"

Samuel simply nodded.

The Orc paused for a moment, assessing the boy, before he spoke again. "You said you lived in the forest? For how long?"

"A year, sir."

"Alone?"

"No sir."

He narrowed his eyes. "Then where are the others?"

"Two came with me, sir," Samuel admitted. "The others... I do not know."

"Then you wish to join the Legion to find them?"

Samuel proceeded slowly, "I will go where the Legion tells me to go, sir. And in each place, I will do everything in my power to find them."

"And what if they are Stormcloaks?" The man's voice was low and dangerous.

Glancing down, Samuel searched for words. "I cannot make my friends' choices. And I will go where the Legion directs me, sir. If our swords cross on the battlefield..." the boy looked at the man. "I pray to the Divines they would lay down their arms and surrender."

The Prefect said nothing for a few minutes, instead staring at the boy. Samuel gulped, afraid his journey would end before it had even began. "Any other archers?" A few other recruits raised their hands. The man tilted his head to a few straw targets. "Pick up a bow and show me what you have to offer."

Samuel hesitated for a moment, not sure if the man was teasing him or was serious. When the others moved to the weapon rack and the Prefect raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Well?" Samuel brandished his longbow and spied the circular target across the courtyard. The other recruits the Prefect had been training diverted their attention to the boy. He backed up, ignoring the scoffs, and took aim down range at a target nearly 80 meters away and released the arrow. It hit squarely in the center. Beaming with pride, the boy turned to the man.

"Beginner's luck!" a man sneered.

The boy wrinkled his nose slightly before drawing back two arrows and releasing them at the target again. One arrow stuck beside the first arrow, but the other arrow split the first, hitting the center head on once again. The other fresh recruits managed to hit the targets, but none save for the Wood Elf hit the target as almost perfectly as Samuel.

Arms folded across his chest, the Prefect nodded. "Impressive, wild boy."

Samuel grinned wider.

"But how good is your swordarm?"

The boy's smile fell.

"Cyrus!" the Orc turned to the group of trainees he had been training prior.

A broad shouldered, thickly muscled Redguard jogged to his commanding officer's side. "Sir!" He saluted the Orc and held the position.

The Prefect pointed to Haming, "You," then to Samuel, "Wild boy," he then pointed to everyone else in the line, "You, you, you, you, you, and you." He motioned to Cyrus. "All of you, against him."

As the Redguard unsheathed a longsword from his hip and placed his left arm into the handles of a round shield, the fresh recruits scrambled to the weapon rack. Samuel slung his rucksack beside the rack and darted between the Breton woman and the Dark Elf man, managing to grab hold of a shortsword and buckler.

The Nord recruit jeered at the Imperial boy. "A little sword and shield, for a little boy."

Samuel glared at the Nord. He only looked to be a few years older than him, but he was definitely two heads taller than the younger boy. He wanted to say something, to shoot back a retort, but he clamped his mouth shut. He did not need to make any enemies on his first day.

The smashing of metal on metal turned their heads and Cyrus took a fighting stance in the center of the courtyard. "Come to The Slaughterhouse, meat!" He kept his knees bent and he swayed slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

" _You're_ meat!" The Nord snarled and charged blindly at the man. He raised his sword to bring it down onto his opponent's neck. The Redguard sidestepped to his left, dodging the blade and kicked the back of the Nord's knee. With one swift blow, the seasoned recruit smashed the pommel of his sword onto the top of the Nord's head, knocking him out cold onto the ground. The Redguard jumped and spun around in midair to face the other recruits.

"One piggy to the slaughter!" he cackled.

"If we all attack him at once," the Breton woman suggested, hefting her mace, "It will be impossible for him to block all of us."

The Imperial recruit snorted. "Save your tricks for your magic, _halfbreed_." He strode forward. " _I_ will handle this."

"Piggy number two!" The Redguard grinned, swaying back and forth.

"Do you know who I am, _peasant_?" The Imperial man spat.

The Redguard smirked.

" _I_ am Anarath Sintav! Son of -"

Lunging forward, the Redguard interrupted the recruit. "Little _Ana_ , hiding behind his father's skirts! How _charming_!" He bashed the edge of his shield into the Imperial's face, snapping his nose. Before the other could react, Cyrus whirled his sword and danced around the man. When he stepped back, the armor fell from the Imperial's body, exposing his undergarments and leaving him without a scratch.

As Cyrus shoved the gawking man to the stone, the Breton woman, Dark Elf man, Argonian man, and Wood Elf woman rushed forward. Samuel dashed after his fellow recruits. The Redguard grinned wolfishly and jumped into the air, vaulting over the group. The Wood Elf and the Argonian jumped up, attempting to catch him in the air. Twisting his body, Cyrus threw his shield into the woman's gut, sending her crashing to the ground, and he barreled into the Argonian. One punch to the face, and the Argonian was out.

The Dark Elf and Breton brought their weapons onto the man, and the Redguard smashed his leather bracers into their armaments. Blood raced down his forearms, but the man showed no sign of weakness. He pushed his arms upward, disrupting their balance. Samuel saw the opening and he seized the opportunity. Springing forward, Samuel attempted to plunge his blade into the man's chest.

The blade scraped against leather, tearing into it. Cyrus locked eyes with the boy and grinned. Samuel attempted to pull the blade out, but found he could not move it. Blood draining from his face, the boy realized the man had securely tucked the blade beneath his armpit. However, Samuel did not have the strength to overcome the man's and tear up into his underarm.

Pain erupted between Samuel's eyes and he stumbled backwards, falling and smashing his head against the stone. The world spun and blood filled his mouth. He tried to get up, but he found he could not. The Breton and Dark Elf continued to battle Cyrus, their forms spinning and kicking above him.

Two strong hands pulled the boy out of the fray and Samuel came face to face with the scarred Orc. The boy hung his head in shame.

"Do not worry, wild boy. You found an opening, that is more than can be said for your fellows." He jutted his chin out to indicate the fallen Nord and Imperial.

Samuel sighed and rubbed the blood off of his chin.

"Cheer up. Do you think the Imperial City was built in one day?"

The boy shook his head, sending a wave of nausea through him.

"You will learn, wild boy," the Orc patted the boy's shoulder. "We will make a fine soldier out of you yet." He stood up and turned back to the sparring session. After a moment, he seemed to remember something and he looked at the fresh recruit. "What is your name, wild boy?"

"Samuel, sir."

The Redguard's howl of victory rang out through the courtyard of Castle Dour and echoed through the entirety of Solitude.

* * *

 _ **As always, feel free to PM me or write a review with your questions, comments, or concerns.**_

 _ **Thanks guys for reading!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:**

 _I am assuming dragon fire is much hotter and leaves a sort of "magical imprint" on whatever it touches. Basically, those marred by dragon fire will always feel a part of it for as long as they live._

 _Making up the explanation as to why Aventus' father is never mentioned._

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

The boy slammed to the cold, hard ground, jostling his shoulder against the snow-covered road.

"Get up, boy!" the Nord soldier ordered for the hundredth time. The other troops groaned and shook their heads as they reigned in their horses to a stop, waiting for the boy to stand and climb back onto his steed... once again. Having no experience in horseback riding, the fourteen year old boy had fallen repeatedly on their journey across Skyrim, each time bringing their party to a halt and earning more and more disdain from his companions.

Head already half-buried from the blizzard's white cascade, the Imperial remained motionless. The searing pain in his back which had plagued him the past few days had finally subsided, thanks to the deadening cold of the snow. In just the short amount of time, the cool embrace beckoned him to sojourn in the silver blanket. Eyes closing, he sighed and allowed the fuzzy, crackling numbness to spread throughout his limbs.

Soft crunching reached the boy's ears and a deep voice growled, "Boy, get up." A hand closed over the back of the boy's coat and pulled him out of the dirt and snow. The grasp on his back brushed his raw, inflamed skin and elicited a yelp of pain. "You have been falling for the past few days, boy. This one will not break you."

"It is not that, sir," the boy muttered, opening his eyes and blinking past the pain. "My back, you see..." When they escaped Helgen, the group had resupplied in Ivarstead, purchasing new equipment and warm clothes, replacing the burnt fur coat the boy had been wearing the day before.

The man immediately released his hold on the boy and closed a hand over his shoulder. "What happened to your back, boy?"

"The dragon at Helgen ignited the forest, sir. My coat caught fire." As he spoke, he felt the broiling heat return to his back, the ghost of the dragon fire still gnawing at his skin.

Ulfric nodded to himself after a moment. "Your wounds will be tended to once we reach the city. If we try to act now, you will freeze."

"Understood." the fourteen year old clenched his teeth together, his burn still sending waves of pulsating pain up his spine.

"Aventus," the Jarl said, his voice soft yet firm. "We must depart." The man rose to his feet and ordered, "Stand, boy."

Looking up at Ulfric, Aventus placed his hand onto the snow and managed to push himself onto one knee. One of the soldiers called out a jeer of scorn but it barely registered in the boy's mind, the white hot sear wracked through his body once again. Pushing past the pain, Aventus staggered up and clambered back onto the black horse.

"Let's move!" Ulfric bellowed over the howling wind, and the party increased the pace to a trot.

The other soldiers had given the boy a wide berth ever since he introduced himself. Aventus understood. His father had been a merchant, earning vast amounts of wealth for himself and his wife by trading a variety of metals, ores, leather, and everything else required to make weaponry. His trade had earned him the respect of the Jarl of Windhelm and they were given a large house near the Palace of Kings itself. After Aventus' birth, his father had been killed. The boy had never received a straight answer: some claimed the Argonian drowned the merchant, others said the man simply fell into the frozen water. Either way, the merchant was dead and Argonians were no longer permitted into the city.

Isolation did not bother Aventus, it gave him time to think. Although, it was particularly difficult to keep his mind focused on any one thought with the constant searing upon his back and the biting snow hitting his face. He found himself counting the number of steps his steed took and after several minutes, the mundane task

"We are almost to Windhelm," the Nord with the black bearskin cloak rode up to the boy. "Almost home." The man's last words were almost lost in the blizzard, as the road and White River had before and beside them.

"We have journeyed far from home for far too long, my King," one of the other men called back to Ulfric. "'A long time to roam, a rough voyage home!'"

The Jarl chuckled and replied, "Nonsense! Kyne is simply welcoming the true Sons of Skyrim home!"

A series of whoops and cheers spread throughout the procession, despite the onslaught of snow and ice and wind. Aventus remained silent. Ulfric was the Jarl of Windhelm, not the High King of Skyrim. So why were these men and women addressing him as such? It was impossible for them to be mistaken, Ulfric's own guards would never call him by the incorrect title. If he was truly the High King, why was the Imperial Legion after him? Aventus knew worship of Talos was forbidden, and Ulfric was a devout worshiper of the man-god; perhaps the Empire sought to enforce the banned worship of Skyrim? The boy was not sure. He would have to observe and listen to receive an answer.

Cries of joy erupted over the blizzard's screech and the men and women increased their pace. Aventus urged his horse into a gallop to keep their azure cloaks in sight, Ulfric kept pace beside the boy. Each rise and fall of the horse's stride aggravated his injury, and he dug his nails into the saddle in an attempt to relieve the pain. The sound of horse hooves clattering on well-maintained stone reached his ears and Aventus realized they were crossing a bridge.

"Talos guide us," the boy heard the man whisper under his breath. It was then Aventus remembered the shrine of Talos overlooking the city. The bridge ended and the party swept right then left. The guards dismounted their horses and tucked them into the stables. Aventus was about to follow suit when Ulfric ordered, "This way, boy." He turned his horse to the left and trotted over the bridge leading up to the city gates.

Aventus followed, silently thanking the man. They rode up to the gates and Ulfric waved to the gatekeepers, sending the pair scrambling over one another to allow their Jarl into the city. The boy looked up at the ramparts and sighed. He had never thought he would return, he had never wanted to return. Too many specters of the past resided within these walls, and he had no desire to commune with them.

The blizzard continued to rage within the walls of the city and few townsfolk ventured out of their homes. Even in the snowy haze, Aventus noted the same unsightly tree-like face of Candlehearth Hall, its two half circle windows divided in two looking almost like two pairs of eyes. Ulfric rode his horse past the tavern and up the stairs to the Palace of the Kings.

Swinging himself off his horse, the man helped the boy to the ground. A broad-shouldered giant stood outside the palace gates. The full skin of a brown bear draped over his shoulders, and its lifeless skull was placed securely on the man's head. He stood at attention and called out to Ulfric, "My King, Kyne herself smiles upon your return."

"And Talos as well, my old friend," Ulfric led the boy up the last few steps and into the warmth of the palace as the man-bear pushed open the doors. Several guards garbed in blue leapt to their feet at the sight of their Jarl. "Wuunferth!" he yelled, causing the men and women to jump back and refrain from asking questions.

A thin, elderly man dressed in brilliant red robes dashed into the hall. Eyes finding Ulfric, the man queried as he approached, "You called, my King?"

"This boy requires your skill." Ulfric firmly sat Aventus at one of the Great Hall's benches situated before an empty feasting table. Before he could protest, the Jarl had already managed to peel off the boy's coat and shirt, wresting a hiss of pain from the dark-haired Imperial.

Wuunferth moved behind Aventus. "My, my, you have managed to acquire a nasty burn, boy."

"Yes sir." the youth replied simply.

"Might I ask what caused these burns?" the elder inquired.

"A dragon." Ulfric stated as if it was a common occurrence. The assembly of guards muttered excitedly amongst themselves.

"A dragon!?" Wuunferth exclaimed, his tone of voice was equally both elated and terrified.

The broad-shouldered man strode up to the trio and folded his arms across his chest, listening intently. Aventus finally realized the man was none other than Galmar Stone-Fist, a veteran of the Great War.

A hand pressed against Aventus' raw back and the boy flinched at the touch. "Yes, dragon fire is much more damaging than normal fire, or so the old texts say. Now that I am observing it first hand, I can say the accounts are -"

"The boy is in enough pain as it is, Wuunferth," Ulfric insisted, imploring the man to simply heal Aventus' wounds. "If you would please."

"Ah, right." A soothing warmth flooded over the boy's back and he welcomed the relief. Despite feeling much better, the court wizard did not seem to be finished with his task, as he continued the healing spell and remained behind Aventus.

"And set meat and mead on the table," the Jarl waved at attendants as he sat beside the boy. "Our journey has been long and hard and we still have far to go."

Galmar remained where he stood, as if he was fixated to the floor beside the end of the table. "Then the Imperials intercepted you? There is no way on Nirn you could have traveled to the Imperial City and back to Windhelm in the time you have been gone... unless you have ridden on the back of a dragon." There was no glint of humor in the Nord's eyes.

As Aventus began to wonder for the reasoning Ulfric had to travel to the Imperial City, the other guards from their party entered the palace and, upon seeing the group sitting at the table, joined them. Guards on duty within the palace simply listened, and the attendants returned with large platters of meat, cheese, bread, and mead. One set a silver plate in front of Aventus and he glanced to Ulfric, wondering if he was permitted to indulge.

"No, Galmar. We were attacked just before we reached the White Pass," Ulfric piled his plate high with venison and eidar cheese. He was about to take a gulp of mead from his tankard when he saw the boy looking at him. "You may eat, boy; you are my guest, not my prisoner." He motioned to the platters as he drank.

"Thalmor?" a burning scorn flashed through the man-bear's eyes.

As Aventus reached for a leg of goat, Ulfric shook his head. "Imperial ambush."

Several curses growled across the table, though the most commonly heard insult was none other than "Imperial bastards." Aventus simply listened and ate his fill.

The Jarl raised his hand and silence enveloped the hall. "The Imperials transported us to Helgen to be executed." His expression turned solemn. "We lost Kjarik Bull-Head and Gunjar. We will see them again in Sovngarde." The others murmured the prayer and Aventus was nearly convinced the Jarl was truly in grief. After a moment, he looked at every man and woman present. "But now is not that time. There is much to do before then. We will drive the Imperials and the Thalmor from Skyrim, storm the city of Solitude, I will take my rightful place as High King of Skyrim, and then we will rebuild Skyrim back to her former glory."

The men and women jumped up in fervor, throwing fists and full tankards up into the air and spilling mead onto the table and ornamental rugs. "For Skyrim!" they cried, over and over and over again, until their voices gave out and they had drank themselves into a stupor. Some stumbled out of the palace, making their way towards the barracks while others dragged their unconscious comrades outside.

Before long, Aventus, Ulfric, Galmar, and Wuunferth were alone.

"You may go Wuunferth, and thank you." Ulfric said quietly.

"Of course, my King." The elderly man strode quickly away, returning to his chambers.

The Jarl's eyes shifted to Aventus. "And what do you make of all of this, boy?"

Thinking, the fourteen year old replied slowly, "I must apologize, sir, but I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the events of Skyrim as of late."

The gray-eyed man stared at the boy. "How long were you in the wilderness?"

"Since the 17th of Last Seed, in the year 200 in the Fourth Era."

"You survived in the wild all by your lonesome, boy? For over a year?" Galmar's gruff voice emanated beside the boy.

Aventus shook his head. "There were several of us."

"I assume you met these individuals at Honorhall?" Ulfric raised an eyebrow.

The boy froze. After a moment of consideration, he narrowed his eyes and straightened up. There was nothing anyone could do to him that he had not been put through already. If Ulfric sought to give him to Honorhall, once again, Aventus would escape just as he had before. "Yes sir. However, the woman who became our mentor, was _not_ from the orphanage."

Ulfric raised both eyebrows this time, in surprise. "A woman you say?"

Aventus nodded. "She called herself Jasia, an Imperial. She taught us to hunt, fish, and survive in the forests of Falkreath."

The man smiled. "I admire her skill. I would like to meet her someday."

Shrugging simply, the boy revealed, "I imagine that would be difficult. She is off hunting Vampires, you see." Aventus saw no reason to keep things from Ulfric, he had to show the man he trusted him. Hopefully then, the Jarl would see he could be a vital asset and would either keep him close or at least allow him to move freely long enough for him to find the others.

Ulfric released a booming laugh. "A woman hunting Vampires! I would assume she was a Nord if you did not tell me she was an Imperial!"

"Vampire attacks have been less frequent as of late, my King." Galmar stated.

"Then our men will seek her out once the scum have been eradicated from Skyrim," the Jarl smiled before returning to business. "Since you have spent such a length of time away from society, I imagine you have not heard of the Civil War plaguing Skyrim?"

"No sir." Aventus kept his ears pricked and his eyes on the man's expression, searching for any sign the man might be lying.

Ulfric looked straight at the boy. "High King Torygg was weak. I showed the entirety of Skyrim as such when I bested him in combat and declared _myself_ High King, as is my right. However," he clenched a fist as if in anger, "the Imperials seek to thwart Skyrim's growth and quash our legacy of a strong, honorable province. In response, as the _true_ Sons of Skyrim, we have retaliated. We will _not_ be silenced and we will flaunt our free worship of Talos. But first, we must drive out the Imperials and the Thalmor."

The dark-haired boy thought to himself for a moment. "If the battle is in Skyrim, then why were you traveling to the Imperial City?"

"Do not question your _King_ boy." Galmar growled dangerously.

Aventus bit his tongue, stopping himself from stating, "He is not _my_ King." He knew better than to provoke the man-bear.

"It is alright, Galmar. The boy is curious," Ulfric reassured his friend before turning back to the boy. "I sought to speak with the Emperor about our plight; but, as you heard, the Imperials stopped us." Nothing in Ulfric's expression or posture refuted he was telling the truth and so Aventus could only nod. The Jarl exchanged a glance with Galmar. "What happened to your friends, Aventus?"

Swallowing, the boy admitted, "I know not."

There was a pause before Ulfric spoke again. "Do you wish to see them again?"

Aventus looked at the man, unsure if the question was a threat.

"If you help us, join our cause, my men can help find them," Ulfric stared into Aventus' eyes. "Do you wish to see them again?"

The fourteen year old was unsure if the man was telling the truth, but there was nothing to indicate he was lying. "Yes sir."

"Will you join us then?"

Aventus did not need to be asked twice. "Yes sir."

"Hold, Ulfric," Galmar growled. "He is a _boy_. We need _men_."

"He will grow up and become a man, Galmar," Ulfric waved dismissively. "Until then, he will train and become my personal squire. He will be a Son of Skyrim."

"If he truly seeks to become a Son of Skyrim, then he will have no problem proving it." The man straightened up.

Aventus shot an inquisitive look at the broad-shouldered Nord. "And how would I do that?"

The man-bear locked eyes with the boy. "Go to Serpentstone Isle, slay an Ice Wraith, return, and you will prove yourself to me. Until then, _boy_ , you are nothing to me and you will be nothing to Ulfric." He folded his arms across his chest and stared down Aventus. "If you want this, prove it."

Mind racing, Aventus weighed the options in his head. Galmar was giving him the opportunity to leave. He could find the others and he would not have to deal with the futile Civil War. Aventus knew he did not owe anything to Ulfric, he had forsaken him when he was a boy and now, by some luck, he had saved the boy's life. For Aventus, the pair were even. However, the fourteen year old did not know where to start in his search. At least here, he was guaranteed food, shelter, a bed... if he could kill an Ice Wraith.

Either way, Aventus knew he would be leaving Windhelm tonight.

* * *

 _ **Sorry guys for it being late, that was bad time management on my part (played way too much Guild Wars 2 and Mortal Kombat X with my younger brothers). I'll get the next chapter up on Thursday, as scheduled.**_

 _ **As always, feel free to PM me or write a review, and thanks for reading!**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

 _I am assuming it is the norm for people to be referenced by their first name (you don't hear people referencing Ulfric as his last name, Stormcloak). The only exception would be for some, most notably Bretons, to call young women miss or Ms. (insert last name here) or men Mr., Sir (if they are a knight), or sir._

 _Also, since the execution happens_ right _when you enter Solitude..._

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

The rays of the falling sun painted the sky orange and purple and red, like a storm in the desert. Metal clashing against metal and grunts and cries of fury raged across the courtyard of Castle Dour. The new recruits trained and bled beneath the watchful eye of the Prefect. Samuel parried Haming's thrust and slammed the pommel of his blade onto his opponent's hand.

"Ow," The other boy dropped his blade and held his hand close to his chest. He narrowed his eyes, shooting a glare at Samuel. The fourteen year old lifted his blade to strike the boy, but Haming cried out, "I yield!"

Rolling his eyes, Samuel shook his head. He was tired of sparring, if you could call it that, with the Nord. Every scratch, bump, and minor injury he inflicted, Haming would jump back and would not rearm himself until at least five minutes had passed and he "recovered". Samuel had little choice, however, as the other recruits refused to fight against the youngest members of the bunch. The only exception was Cyrus, but Samuel did not want to repeat his previous experience; he remembered the way his forehead ached from the blow he received on the first day.

"Wild boy," the Prefect's voice called out across the courtyard. He lifted his chin, indicating for the boy to stand before him. Samuel obliged and jogged up to the man, wondering what he was about to get reprimanded for now. Nevertheless, Samuel stood up straight and stared at something a few inches above the Prefect's shoulder. "Haming seems to be getting a beating, yet you do not seem to have a single scratch on you!"

"No sir!" Samuel tried to keep himself from smiling, knowing he would just get an earful.

The Prefect looked hard at the boy. "And why is that!?"

"Sir, I best him in combat!"

"You 'best' him in combat?" The Prefect almost chuckled.

"Yes sir!"

"Are you saying you would like a challenge, wild boy!?"

The twinkle in the officer's eyes made Samuel uneasy, but Samuel knew he would have to give a reply almost instantly. "Yes sir!" The boy prayed he would not be paired with Cyrus again.

Smiling widely, the Prefect ran his eyes over the other fresh recruits. Haming cringed in fear and shied away from the Orc's gaze. The Argonian and Dark Elf were locked in combat, the Elf's daggers slashed with a wild fury and yet he could only seem to hit air. A few meters away, the Nord was having similar luck against the Wood Elf, though where the Argonian seemed to almost jump from position to position, the Elf seemed to dance.

The pompous Imperial from the first day cowered beneath the Breton woman. The sixteen year old knelt above the twenty-something year-old and continued to smash her mace into the man's armored forearms covering his face. He was obviously beaten, though he was too imperious to yield.

"Ana! Get your ass over here!" The Prefect bellowed.

The young Breton jumped to her feet, a small smirk playing at her lips, while the Imperial stumbled to his feet. Dusting himself off, the man glowered at the woman.

" _Today_ , Sint- _ass_!" the Imperial officer growled, purposefully butchering the younger man's name.

Strutting up to the Prefect, Anarath saluted and stood proudly, not even sparing Samuel a glance. "Yes sir?"

"You and wild boy." The Prefect nodded.

"Sir, I must _strongly_ object." Anarath protested.

The officer raised his eyebrows, a smile forming on his face. "Oh, _really_ now?"

"Yes sir."

Turning to the senior recruits, the Prefect yelled, "Cyrus!" The Redguard immediately ceased his actions and began to sprint towards his commanding officer.

"Oh, so you send your _pupil_ to face me," the bombastic Imperial spat. "Are you _that_ much of a coward?"

Samuel's eyes widened in surprise. The Prefect simply blinked once as the Redguard arrived. "Very well. Cyrus, you and Sint- _ass_ will pair up against me."

Face blanching, the Redguard stammered, "A-are you sure, sir?"

"Did I stutter, recruit!?"

"No sir!"

"Then get your asses to the other side of the courtyard and prepare for combat!"

Scrambling over their own feet, Cyrus and Anarath dashed to the opposite end of the courtyard. The commotion attracted the attention of the remaining recruits and the sixteen year-old Breton stood beside Samuel to get a better view of the upcoming bout.

The Nord stood on Samuel's other side, his arms folded across his chest. "Well, that pompous arse is about to make a fool of himself." he snorted.

"Serves him right," the girl folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "That mangy cur. Throughout our duels, he has done nothing save make unsubtle advances and attempt to move his hands to unvirtuous places." Her lip curled up in disgust.

The Dark Elf on the Nord's other side leaned in to speak. "He has not desisted? I would assume after two full days of getting his arse handed to him, he would understand."

"Especially since the one giving him the throttling is the recipient of said advances." The Nord shook his head.

"One would think." the girl grumbled.

"I apologize, miss," Samuel decided to say, "Some men do not have the capacity to understand when a woman has no interest in them."

The Breton turned to the boy her height and smiled. "I suppose not." She seemed to assess the boy for a moment and she opened her mouth to say something; but whatever it was, she quickly thought better than to speak and instead diverted her attention to the impending match.

Much to Samuel's surprise, the officer unbelted his sword from his waist.

"What is he doing?" the Nord asked, his eyes wide.

"I do believe he is removing his sword." the Wood Elf muttered as the Prefect threw his belt, sword, and sheath to the side.

The Nord growled, "I realize that, woman."

Shaking her head, the woman snorted. "Then for what reason did you ask?"

Anarath threw his hand dismissively at the older man. "Do you believe yourself to be so talented, you can take Anarath Sintav, son of Audeius, wielder of the -"

The Redguard punched the Imperial in the shoulder, cutting him off and eliciting an outcry of pain from his victim.

"Unlike some," the Prefect stated, "I let my prowess in combat speak for itself."

As the Redguard hefted his longsword and shield, Samuel saw the fear in the man's eyes and the boy began to wonder how skillful the Prefect was. In contrast, the Imperial looked to be quite proud of himself.

When neither replied, the officer stated, "Then I suppose we are ready to begin." Keeping his fists elevated, the man began to walk forward. The recruits inched towards the man and, despite Anarath's previous confidence, even he demonstrated a level of caution... until seconds became moments and impatience flashed through the Imperial's eyes.

Anarath darted forward, sword raised and shield at his side. He reached the Prefect in an instant, but the older man was not surprised. The officer grabbed the man's sword-wrist and brought up his own elbow, hitting the younger man in the jaw. Before Samuel could blink, the Prefect slung his right arm over the other's back, almost as if he sought to throw him to the ground. Instead, he pushed the butt of his hand against Anarath's elbow and snapped it in two. He then proceeded to push the screaming man forward, catching his other arm and breaking it as well. The recruit fell to the ground, his shoulders hitting the stone.

A glint of steel flashed before the Prefect. Cyrus had raised his shield to block any incoming attacks and thrusted his longsword forward, aiming straight into the officer's side. Pivoting on his left foot, the Orc managed to sidestep out of the way and closed his left hand on the Redguard's shield-elbow. He smashed the pinky-side of his hand against his pupil's neck and wrapped both arms around the dazed man's waist.

With a mighty heave, the officer swung the Redguard backwards, over his head and bending so far back, Samuel would not have believed such a stunt was possible. The Redguard's head smashed into Anarath's knee with enough force, it broke the inexperienced recruit's leg and knocked the other unconscious.

"That is enough fun for today," the Prefect almost laughed as he wiped his hands against each other. "Time for dinner!" As the man called for a mage for the two incapacitated recruits, the others fell in line before the slop cauldron.

The bowl of slop made Grelod's cooking look appetizing. Samuel was not sure what was in the actual dish, but he knew it tasted awful. The night before, he thought he tasted beef, whereas this morning he swore it was chicken. Still, he did not have a choice in the matter and all he could do was eat it, whatever _it_ was.

He sat beside the other recruits he had arrived with. The seven of them sat around a small fire pit and ate in silence, just as they had the night before. Anarath was still whining to the restoration mages. As Samuel ate the slop, he realized he did not know anything about any of them... save for Anarath's name and Haming as the boy from Helgen who had looked down his nose at the orphans not even a few months ago.

Gathering his courage, Samuel started, "You know, none of us have been properly introduced..."

Lifting her spoon and watching the liquid fall back into her bowl, the Breton replied, "No, I suppose we have not." She turned to Samuel and smiled. "I am called Selene Kingston, and I am from Skyrim."

Samuel nodded. "I am Samuel, and I am from Skyrim as well."

The Argonian to Samuel's immediate left spoke next, and the boy noted each recruit was introducing themselves after the recruit to their right. "I am Okan-Ru, and I hail from Morrowind."

"I am Fadril Valaai, and I am also from Morrowind." The Dark Elf smiled at the Argonian.

Raising his head from the bowl, the Nord simply stated, "Godrel, Skyrim." before continuing his meal.

Haming cleared his throat and said, "I am Haming, from Skyrim."

"Cirwen, from Cyrodiil." The Wood Elf had barely touched her food yesterday, but she must have realized there was nothing else present for sustenance because she now swallowed down the slop.

In that moment, Anarath began to trudge sheepishly towards the circle, his bowl of food in his hands. As he approached, Cyrus roughly bumped into the Imperial and snarled, "Oh, I apologize, I cannot feel _anything_ in this arm!" He strode off to his own circle of recruits, not waiting for a response. Samuel managed to hear the Redguard mutter, "That hurt."

Both Samuel and Cirwen snickered at the comment.

"Is something amusing?" Selene asked.

The teenager was about to reply, when a sudden silence fell over the courtyard. Looking up, Samuel realized all eyes were on a dark-haired, bearded Nord garbed in scale armor over chainmail. The blood red of his sash marked him as a Solitude guard. Samuel had seen the man before and identified him as Captain Aldis, the Captain of the guards of Solitude. In tow was a Nord with short, light brown hair; he wore ragged clothes and his hands were bound: he was a prisoner. Following the pair was a strong Redguard, armed with a greataxe longer than its wielder.

Samuel's blood ran cold as he understood what was about to happen.

A hand closed over Samuel's forearm and Selene whispered, "Come." She darted away, making her way out of Castle Dour. The boy hesitated. He had already witnessed one execution more than what he had hoped to see in his lifetime, and he was satisfied with never seeing another again.

The others stood and followed the Breton, their bowls of food forgotten. Godrel, however, did not forget them. The Nord gathered up all the dishes and scurried after the group, moving quickly enough to catch up, yet slow enough to not splash any slop onto the ground. Even Anarath managed to hobble out of the courtyard.

Selene waved Samuel over as the other groups of recruits stood and followed. Sighing in resignation, the boy stood and jogged after the group, heart sinking in his chest. He followed the men and women out of Castle Dour and through Solitude. As the sun drifted beneath the horizon, the city residents began to turn in for the day, locking up their shops and conversing outside of their homes. They were oblivious to what was about to occur within the walls of their city. The recruits stopped before the city gates, their eyes focused to the south, to a raised platform with nothing on it but a wooden headsman's block.

Samuel took his place beside Selene, and he could not hide his discomfort. The girl noticed and she asked, "What is it?"

The boy shook his head and lied, "It is nothing." His eyes looked around at the scene before him.

Word had spread like dragon fire throughout the city and it seemed that the men and women, who had been preparing for the night only moments before, had congregated to view the execution. Even the Jarl of Solitude herself was present, complete with a contingent of guards. The young widow stood proud in a blood red tunic, and an embroidered cloak draped over her shoulders. Samuel noted the coloring of the guards' sashes and the Jarl's tunic were appropriate for the matter at hand. The woman stared hard at the platform, her head held high. Her face was cold and emotionless, yet Samuel saw a silent ferocity in her eyes. She smiled at her people as they passed by and exchanged a few words, but her focus was on the headsman's block. A Nord dressed in fine robes stood next to her, turning occasionally to whisper in her ear.

The city gates opened for a moment, and a Nord with dark hair sprinted into the city. Seeing the procession, he halted in his tracks and looked around. Samuel thought he recognized the man, but he could not quite put a finger on his identity.

The man sucked in a breath and screamed, "WHAT IS HAPPENING!?"

Samuel sighed and realized who the man was.

"They cannot hurt Uncle Roggvir," Samuel heard a girl protest, "Tell them he did not do it!"

"WHAT DID HE DO!?"

Sneers and jeers called out and Samuel turned to see the trio stepping onto the raised platform. Turning to the two behind him, the Captain said something Samuel could not catch. The prisoner stood behind the block with the executioner to his left and the Captain to his right.

"Svari," a man whispered, "You need to go home. Go home and stay there until your mother comes."

"Lock the city gate!" the Captain called out over the crowd.

"You should tell her that her uncle is scum that betrayed the High King," a woman spat at the man. "Best she know now, Addvar."

"You are all heart, Vivienne." the man murmured.

Raising a hand for silence, the Captain waited for the crowd before he spoke. "Roggvir. You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg." Samuel's eyes widened and he discerned the reason why Ulfric was to be executed the day Helgen was destroyed. "By opening that gate for Ulfric, you betrayed the people of Solitude."

"OH!"

Several people cried out, most notable were the phrases, "Traitor!" and "He does not deserve to speak!"

Roggvir announced to the crowd, "There was no murder! Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat." Samuel turned to glance at the Jarl, but the crowd had closed in around him and he could not find her.

"Liar!" a woman screamed.

"Such is our way," the prisoner continued, "Such is the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!" The boy straightened his shoulders; the prisoner spoke the truth, anyone could challenge the High King, and if he won, he was the rightful ruler of Skyrim. Then why was Ulfric not here? Why was he not made High King?

The crowd booed around Samuel and his eyes darted to the Breton beside him. She said nothing, her face was neutral, she simply observed. The other recruits had similar expressions on their faces.

The woman who had called Roggvir scum screeched, "Cut him down!" Others cried out in approval. Samuel grimaced in disgust at the assembly. While he had no love for the Stormcloaks, he did not wish for blood to be needlessly spilt... especially in front of children. His eyes ran over the crowd once again and he suddenly froze.

He recognized the reddish brown hair on the teenage boy, and the brunette standing beside him. Samuel wanted to move towards his friends, but as quickly as he saw them, they disappeared once again behind the surging crowd. He tore his eyes away and prevented himself from looking at them again; he could not afford to be distracted.

Straightening up, the Captain said, "Guard, prepare the prisoner."

"I do not need your help." the Nord snarled.

"Very well," Captain Aldis nodded, "Roggvir. Bow your head."

Samuel shifted his stance, uneasy. The prisoner was not read his rights; even the men and women present at Helgen had the opportunity to commune with their gods and makers.

The Nord settled himself onto the block and the executioner raised his axe. As the crowd cheered and jeered, Samuel read the prisoner's lips. "On this day, I go to Sovngarde." The axe swung down onto the man's neck, and Samuel wondered whether or not the man's soul would truly be present beside Shor in the Hall of Valor.

* * *

 _ **Thanks guys for reading! Feel free to PM me or write a review!**_

 _ **You guys are amazing!**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

 _There will be_ some _profane language. Just as a head's up._

 _I'm assuming Jarl Igmund does not know about the conspiracy with the Forsworn._

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

Mist swirled down the sides of the mountains shielding the stone city. Rain pattered down onto the dirt and stone and into the Karth River., muddying the ground and sinking traveler's boots and horses hooves into the sludge. The midday sunlight filtered through the overcast sky and glinted off the Dwarven metal rooftops for brief moments before the rain clouds blocked the rays once again. Even on such a dreary day, Runa smiled at the sight of the mighty fortress: the place she had called home so many years ago.

She walked beside Andoryan and Hroar, behind the other mages, save for the vexatious, pink-clothed Breton. The red-haired demon strode confidently beside the Restoration mage. Vyctyn had proved to be a nuisance over the course of a week, more so than Hroar, and the older girl truly tested the Nord's patience. Where Andoryan had been kind and curious, his female counterpart had been pushy, rude, and callous, challenging everything the fourteen year old had said at every opportunity. Runa constantly reminded herself that such a companion was only temporary, and it would all be over soon.

"Why venture to Markarth, Miss Fair-Shield?" Andoryan inquired, scattering Runa's thoughts.

Having abandoned her efforts to prevent him from referring to her as "miss", the girl simply replied, "My father is there."

The aggravating, high-pitched voice spoke. "I do believe you had said you had no idea where your family was."

"You never told any of us about your father." Hroar input before Runa could spit venom at the other girl.

Shrugging, the Nord girl stated, "It did not seem important." She tried to mask her feelings beneath indifference. While it was not an outright lie, she was still hiding the truth from Hroar: she had, in fact, told Samuel about her parents. But she had told no one else. Samuel had been the one she could trust, the one she confided in. He had become her best friend at the orphanage, and she missed having him around to talk and tease and spar.

"'Us'?" Vyctyn asked, to the girl's chagrin.

Runa ignored the other girl, having no desire to fuel her hostilities.

But the Breton proved to be a relentless force. With renewed fervor, the girl insisted, "' _Us_ '?"

"The other orphans." Hroar blurted out.

The brunette knew better than to throw a punch at the boy as a way to punish him, he probably thought he was helping the situation; however, she still shot him a furious glare.

"Other orphans?" the blonde haired young man glanced at Runa.

Silently cursing Hroar for placing her in such a situation, the girl straightened up and explained, "Yes, we are from Honorhall Orphanage in Riften. No, I am _not_ an orphan. As I said, my father lives in Markarth."

"Then, pray tell, why were you in the orphanage if your father was still alive?" Vyctyn asked, looking down her nose at the shorter girl.

"She is not required to answer your questions, Miss Coppering." Andoryan interceded suddenly. Runa blinked in surprise; throughout their journey together, the blonde had never intervened when Vyctyn questioned her.

The Mysticism mage was not dissuaded. "And yet she seems compelled to answer yours, are _mine_ not worthy of a response?"

"Of course not," the Alchemist called back, popping a giant's toe into his mouth, "She does not wish to speak to someone who lacks intelligence." Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Runa wondered why the mage in blue insisted on eating nearly every substance they came across.

"Says the glutton who would rather consume a troll penis to discover its properties than simply read it from a tome." Vyctyn's cheeks matched the color of her hair once she realized what she had said.

"Your pay is henceforth abated." Uthane declared.

The girl whirled to look at her superior. "Sir, I protest!"

"Perhaps you should learn to respect your companions, notably those who are your elders." Elayne, the Expert Illusionist suggested.

"And perhaps you should not be so demanding," Edwistair, the man in violet robes advised. "Miss Fair-Shield and Mister Hroar are our associates, not a Forsworn captive to question."

The red-haired Breton opened her mouth to say something, but she hesitated and ultimately decided to continue in silence. The group passed by the first watchtower, several dogs laying in front of the stables raised their heads at the newcomers.

Hroar gasped in delight and whispered, "Doggies!" He began to whistle and clap his hands to attract at least one of them.

Smiling, Runa did not try to stop him. She remembered the stable boy, though he was most likely not a boy anymore, Banning, always bred loyal, obedient "war dogs". They would not approach unless ordered to by their master. A man garbed in a green tunic stepped out of the stables and, once he saw the party, waved in greeting. Runa returned the gesture, recognizing the painted white arrow on the man's face: he was most certainly Banning. As he saw the girl silently greet him, the man narrowed his eyes, as if thinking... almost as if he wondered who this familiar stranger was.

As the girl began to ponder who might identify her, the band reached the steps leading up to the gates of Markarth. The guards dressed in sashes the color of Falkreath pine raised their hands to halt the group.

"State your business." the man asked, his hand came to rest on the grip of his blade. The guard on the opposite side of the closed Dwemer metal gates also made to ready her axe.

The Alteration Master calmly explained, "We are emissaries from High Rock, sent by King Dunard to aid the people of Skyrim in their battle against the Breton fanatics who call themselves the 'Forsworn'. We seek an audience with Jarl Igmund to offer our assistance."

Standing motionless, the guards did not speak to one another, instead choosing to assess the company. The female guard jutted her chin out, indicating to Runa and Hroar. "And these youths? What is their business traveling with you?"

"We encountered these mages on the road, ma'am," Runa clarified. "As we were traveling to Markarth as well, it was only natural to travel with them."

"And what is your business in Markarth, young miss?" the other guard asked, his demeanor unchanged.

The Nordic girl straightened up. "I am Runa Fair-Shield, daughter of Valund and Riane Fair-Shield. I have been away from my parents for far too long and I wish to see them again."

A puzzled look crossed the girl's face as the guards exchanged a glance. After a pause, the female guard nodded, though her hand was still closed on her axe's hilt. "Very well, you all may enter. Be warned, despite the fact they are madmen, the presence of the Forsworn is persistent. Everyone must be vigilant." She half-turned to the gates and called, "Open!"

Metal grated against stone and the metal doors swung inward, allowing the visitors entry. Runa nodded at the guards, silently thanking them. The pair simply reciprocated the gesture as the group entered the city. Men and women bustled around the open-air market, perusing the stalls and carts of vendors.

City guards patrolled the streets, their presence constant, fluid, and so precise, three were always within view. The clanking of metal reached Runa's ears and she turned just in time to see a Nordic man with shoulder-length brown hair enter the city behind the group. He wore a full suit of reinforced iron armor, complete with a horned helm. He turned his head around quickly, as if he attempted to see everything instantly. The speed at which he looked around should not have been humanly possible.

"Welcome to Markarth," a guard greeted the travelers before they crossed the short, wide wooden bridge leading over the Karth River. "The safest city in all of Skyrim."

Uthane began to speak with the man, asking him for directions to Understone Keep. Runa began to look around the once familiar city. An older man stood behind a crate, beside a cart piled high with cuts of venison, beef, and horker meat. His receding hairline and fat belly revealed his identity to Runa: Hogni Red-Arm.

The girl remembered the man's frightening grin whenever she and her mother would pass by the crate, and Runa shuddered at the memory. It did not seem his macabre air had changed in the slightest. She yanked Hroar back by his elbow when he stepped towards the man. The boy frowned pitifully but remained silent when he saw the look in his friend's eyes.

Sunlight shone through the clouds and the glint of steel caught Runa's attention. A Breton man dressed in a white shirt and brown pants stood behind a woman with light brown hair, she seemed to be browsing over the jeweler's stall. The man held a dagger in his hand. Wrapping an arm around the woman's neck, he screamed, "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" and plunged his blade into the victim's back.

"OH SHIT!" A hand closed over the man's shoulder, pulling him away from the woman. The Breton was spun around and came face to face with the Nord in iron armor. Wordlessly, the man swung his arm at the Breton's neck, severing his head from his shoulders. The woman, to Runa's surprise, was alive and unscathed. She turned around, her eyes wide with horror. Guards quickly closed on the scene, blocking out all prying eyes. As quickly as it had occurred, the men and women in green quelled the situation.

"I do not think this city is that safe." Hroar muttered under his breath. Runa could not help but agree. When she was a child, she thought the walls of Markarth were impenetrable, and they were protected; now, she wondered if life in the city had always been so perilous or if over the years it had transformed into the horror she had just witnessed.

"I am afraid this is where we part ways, Miss Fair-Shield." The man in gold robes said, his eyes still resting on the obscured scene before them.

"Yes, I am afraid so." Runa nodded to the lead mage.

Andoryan stepped forward, "Sir, do you think that is wise? As we have just seen, this city is most definitely _not_ safe." The guard who had welcomed them into Markarth sheepishly inched away.

Raising his eyebrows, Uthane diverted his attention to the Adept. "Therefore, what course of action do you propose we take?"

The long-haired blonde adjusted his raised hood before speaking. "Perhaps one of us could accompany Miss Fair-Shield and Mister Hroar and ensure their safety?"

"And what of the safety of the one escorting the pair?" the mage in red robes asked, her tone neither hostile nor favorable.

"Then perhaps two could accompany them." Andoryan contended.

All of the mages looked to Uthane, save Vyctyn. The red-haired woman shot a glare at the Nords. The eldest Breton mulled over the suggestion. "Gwynolda, due to your concern for the one escorting our compatriots, _you_ will accompany Andoryan to our new friends' destination." The Destruction mage nodded, offering a genuine smile to the teenagers.

"Thank you, sir," the brunette said. "I know not how to repay you."

The man in gold simply smiled. "Do not worry, Miss Fair-Shield. I suspect we shall remain in Markarth for a few days. If ever you need our aid, or desire to join our cause, you are more than welcome in our company." He turned to his subordinates. "We shall meet with Jarl Igmund in Understone Keep. If we are not there, you can find us at..." He looked over to the sign hanging behind him. "the Silver-Blood Inn."

"Understood." Gwynolda replied.

The Restoration mage waved his arm out in a sweeping motion. "Lead the way, Miss Fair-Shield."

Beneath the Mysticism Adept's venomous gaze, Runa strode past the bloody scene, catching a glimpse of the guards dragging the professed Forsworn's corpse to the river. "Move along." one of the men waved the group of four away.

The girl hurried past, leading the other three up the northern staircase. Runa's mind began to buzz with questions and doubts. What if her father did not want to see her? It had been six years since he had sent her away, and she worried he might not be as excited to see her as she hoped. But then where would she go? She had no one, no one but Hroar. They would need to survive somehow, and she supposed the only other option she had was to join the band of mages. Though her and Hroar were not mages themselves, they had proven to be proficient in combat whilst on the road.

Climbing three more flights of stairs before reaching the entrance to her family home, Runa could barely contain her anxiety. The great stone lintel had been carved out of the mountain itself, the double Dwemer metal doors sat beneath the cover of the intricate stone structure. Her father had inherited the abode from his uncle, who had been rendered childless as a result of the Great War. Runa sucked in a deep breath just before she saw a slip of paper fluttering beside the door. She hesitated in the rain, confused.

"Is something the matter?" Andoryan asked, looking at the girl.

"I am not sure." Runa approached the sheet, the carved stone sheltering the girl from the deluge. A nail had been driven into the mountain, securing the article to the wall. Written upon it were two words: "For sale". Runa's heart sank.

After a few minutes, Hroar finally complained. "Can we go inside now?" He sniffled and shivered in the rain.

Runa shook her head. "My father is not here." She motioned to the posted notice.

"Perhaps the Jarl will know where he has gone." Gwynolda proposed after she examined the note.

"If he is a Jarl true to his people, surely he will know where he is." The long-haired blonde nodded in agreement.

The Nordic girl could not find a flaw within their logic. "Then we must request a meeting with Jarl Igmund." She hurried down the stone steps, careful not to slip; it would have been a long fall down to the first level of the city. They passed several houses before descending the staircase in front of the Treasury House. With the mountain to their right, they quickly arrived at the entrance of Understone Keep. The waters of the Karth cascaded down the mountain carved building and sprayed into the group's faces.

Passing into the cover of the mountain structure, the four approached the two Dwemer metal doors. Two guards stood vigil over the entrance. "What business do you have in Understone Keep?" One of the men narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the mages accompanying the Nords.

"We are with the party of mages seeking an audience with Jarl Igmund." Gwynolda raised her chin and spoke. Runa noted her haughty tone, she had never heard the woman speak in such a way before. The brunette suspected the Destruction mage donned the arrogant persona to encourage the guards to send them on their way as quickly as possible.

"And just how did you four get separated from the group?" the other guard questioned, not entirely convinced.

The teenage girl raised her hand sheepishly. "That would be my fault sir. You see, with the threat of the Forsworn, I did not wish to venture alone and a young woman goes through changes -"

"Understood, miss, understood," the first guard obviously had no desire to hear anymore of the story. "You may pass."

As they entered the depths of the mountain, Gwynolda threw back her hood, raised her eyebrows, and smiled at the girl. Runa took the gesture as a sign of praise. Fire pits were the only sources of light and the clear smell of running river water filled the air. The girl had never set foot in the location before, and she was surprised to see fog drifting over the stone ground. Just like her former home, the keep had been carved out of the very mountain, swirls and strange symbols accenting the walls. Dwemer metal gleamed in the fire light upon corners, pillars, and even the ceiling.

Gwynolda took point, leading the others towards the passage entrance before them. A pair of guards each stood in front of a fire pit, which in turn sat beside two pine green banners emblazoned with the horns of Markarth. Upon crossing the floor, Runa noted two other passageways to the right and left, sending her mind wondering just how large the keep was.

The two guards eyed the newcomers as they passed through, but remained silent. A long flight of stairs extended up between two short pillars, each holding what looked like a cage forged out of Dwemer metal. At the top of the stairs, another pair of pillars stood, much taller and broader than their counterparts. They too had the strange metal cages upon them, though these hung from a slab of stone jutting out of the pillar.

Strange, metal constructs held their gaze on the four. The Dwemer metal creature resembled a man, though its legs seemed to be folded between the two shields which sat beneath it, almost as if it sat inside a bowl. "What are those?" Runa whispered, afraid anything louder would provoke the metal monster.

"That would be a Dwarven Animunculi," Gwynolda declared. "Specifically, a Dwarven Sphere. They were created by the Dwemer as guards to their cities." She strode up the stairs, confident, as if their gaze did not frighten her at all.

"I have never seen one up close, only in sketches by other scholars." Andoryan stared in awe at the metal creatures.

Runa and Hroar bounded quickly up the stairs, perturbed at the sight. The landing at the top of the staircase opened up to a large antechamber, with even more passageways extending deeper into the mountain. A duo of High Elves stood aloof, to the left of the chamber. One wore black, gold-trimmed robes while his female counterpart had been covered from head to toe in golden Elven armor.

The contemptuous pair looked down their noses at the group of four and returned to their conversation. The red-robed mage snorted in disdain and kept her eyes forward. Runa supposed not everyone in High Rock was satisfied with Thalmor rule, just as the Nords with the Empire. Five mages stood in the room before them, conversing with Jarl Igmund. A Redguard woman folded her arms across her chest, grimacing at the presence of the Bretons, while an elderly Nord sat on a block of stone, listening intently.

As the group approached the company, the Jarl's words rang out within the throne room. "I thank you for your offer, I thank King Dunard for his concern. We would be honored to accommodate you and your company as you deal with the Forsworn threat."

Uthane nodded deeply, "Thank you for your hospitality, Jarl Igmund."

"Are these four with you as well?" the Jarl asked, turning all heads to Runa, Hroar, Andoryan, and Gwynolda. The Destruction and Restoration mages looked to Runa and Hroar for a response.

"Yes," Runa quickly stated. "We are also joining the fight against the Forsworn." The Master of Alteration exchanged a look with the girl, a look which indicated he supported her decision. "Though," Runa continued slowly, finding the words. "I am curious... what do you know of the former owner of Vlindrel Hall?"

The Nord looked at the brunette. "Did you know him, girl?"

"Yes, sir. Valund Fair-Shield is my father."

Sighing, the Jarl continued, "I apologize, that I am the one to say this and you could not discover this for yourself. Your father is dead."

His words hit Runa like a horse carriage. The last of her blood family was dead. She had no one. The rest of her family was scattered across Tamriel, for all she knew. The only other person she had now was Hroar, and that was a nightmare in and of itself. Despite the grief in her chest, she refused to shed a tear in front of the people before her. Instead, she looked up at the Jarl and asked one question, "How did he die?"

"Forsworn, young miss." he answered. His eyes did not lie.

Runa shook her head, rage filling her now clenched fists. "The Forsworn took my mother, the Forsworn took my father." She stared hard at the Jarl. "They will not take me."

* * *

 _ **As always, thanks guys for reading!**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

 _I am using KrittaKitty and ShimoOkami 's True Wolves of Skyrim's model of wolves for reference instead of vanilla Skyrim's models. You can find the mod on the Nexus._

 _I also don't believe Angrenor Once-Honored's story about him being a friend of the Aretinos. As to why he would gain the key to Aretino Residence after the quest Innocence Lost, I would assume that's so that the game doesn't have him commit a crime to use the "abandoned" house as a home. I would imagine that he actually broke into the house after Aventus left Windhelm a second time (after Innocence Lost). However, since he saw evidence of the Black Sacrament, I would assume he would get out of that house as quickly as possible, and would be scared shitless if he ever saw Aventus again._

 _I realize there is also another issue concerning the Civil War: it seems like it has been going on for years (presence of ex-Stormcloaks, war wounds, Imperial ambushes, Stormcloak ambushes) when it is documented Ulfric killed Torygg in 4E 201, the same year in which Skyrim begins. I feel this small amount of time in which the Civil War has been going on, several months at most, is not a sufficient amount of time to justify all of the supposed ambushes by both Imperials and Ulfric's supporters. Therefore, I am assuming the "Stormcloaks" are simply men and women who have fought beneath Ulfric, not necessarily during the Civil War._

 _Now, in the case of ambushes, this means one of two things are happening: either the Stormcloaks have been fabricating or embellishing these ambushes to gain support, or Skyrim has been "at war" for quite some time but it was not officially in open war until Torygg's death. While I, personally, do not doubt the Stormcloak's cunning, the consensus seems to be that Skyrim has had uneasy relationships with the Empire since their defeat during the Great War, it was further fueled during the Markarth Incident, and came to a culmination when Ulfric assassinated Torygg. Due to this, I will be assuming skirmishes have occurred over the years_ prior _to the Civil War, but they have been a result of misunderstandings, insults, and unprovoked attacks on Imperial patrols by Stormcloaks who wish Skyrim to belong to only the Nords._

 _This ties back in with Angrenor who claimed he was saving his men from an Imperial ambush: I am assuming he is too much of a drunk to remember the specific details, but he does remember an Imperial soldier stabbing him in the back._

 _Ulfric himself is referenced to have killed Torygg with his sword, in some accounts, yet he sends Balgruuf his war axe as a peace offering. I am assuming Ulfric uses a sword in combat and the war axe is simply a ceremonial weapon._

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

Snow and ice pelted the boy as he walked briskly across the immense stone bridge, the midday sun obscured by the blizzard. Releasing a burst of white breath, he pulled his ice wolf skin tighter around him; he had forgotten how cold Eastmarch could get. Thanks to the court wizard's efforts, the searing pain which had plagued him for several days was now nothing more than a dull throb, pulsating with every heartbeat. Still, the dark-haired boy was grateful he no longer felt the full pain of the dragon fire continuously.

He approached the city gates at the end of the bridge, two Stormcloak guards stood on either side. Judging from the way neither quaked nor moved an inch, the boy deduced the guards must have been of Nordic descent.

When the boy was only ten feet from the gates, the guard on the right raised his hand, indicating for the boy to stop. "State your business in Windhelm, boy." he said.

"I am Aventus Aretino. I was charged by Galmar Stone-Fist to slay an ice wraith on Serpentstone Isle." the teenager explained, trying to keep his voice steady in the freezing cold.

"A noble task," the other guard nodded once, slowly, "one that every Nordic boy must perform to earn his right as a man."

"Were you successful?" the first guard asked.

Aventus pulled a small leather bag from his belt, an ice blue ethereal aura emanated from it. He shook it slightly, sending its contents jangling.

A flash of realization crossed the man's eyes and he grinned at the boy. "By Shor! Open the gates!" The gates began to creak open and he clapped the boy on the shoulder, his grin still beaming on his face. "Go on in!"

Allowing himself a smile of pride, Aventus strode into the city, head held high.

"Oh, and Aretino," the teenager turned at the sound of the second guard's voice. "If anyone calls you 'boy', make sure you damn well show them the error of their ways."

"Yes sir!" Aventus grinned. He was about to turn back to the north, to head to the Palace of the Kings, when a man clad in iron armor came charging towards the gates from across the bridge. The guards stopped him and exchanged a few words with him, though other voices diverted the boy's attention.

"Gray-skin scum." a Nord growled. Aventus recognized the voice before he saw the man: Angrenor. When the teenager lived in Windhelm, Angrenor was a guard who had always been bitter concerning the Empire's defeat during the Great War. Even before the Civil War had broken out, Angrenor considered SKyrim to be home to only the Nords. Aventus' eyes flashed between the Nord and the Dark Elf woman he was insulting and concluded that he had not changed in that aspect.

"What have we done to provoke such treatment?" Aventus noted the black painted arrow on the dark woman's face, but her identity eluded him.

Another Nord joined his fellow countryman. Instantly, the teenager identified Rolff Stone-Fist, Galmar's younger brother. Even when Aventus was a child, the man was notorious for insulting foreigners. It did not matter if someone was an Elf, an Argonian, or anything for that matter; if you were not a Nord, Rolff spat at you. Aventus recalled his mother hurrying away whenever the Nord approached: not even Imperials were spared from his wrath. It had been a disgrace for a strong, noble Nord to have a petty brother.

The drunk took a drink of mead from a tankard and snarled, "You come here, where you are not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to offer aid to the Stormcloaks!" The man in iron armor stood beside Aventus, his eyes focused on the scene in front of him.

The woman replied, calm and level-headed. "We have not chosen a side because it is not our fight."

"Hey," Angrenor piped up, "perhaps the reason these gray-skins do not help is because they are, in fact, Imperial spies!"

Aventus rolled his eyes as the female Dark Elf voiced his thoughts, "Imperial spies? That is preposterous!"

Rolff took a step towards the woman, and ran his eyes up and down her form. "Perhaps we will pay you a visit tonight, _little_ _spy_." He advanced into her personal space, the woman did not flinch, though it was apparent she was uncomfortable. Rolff grinned wolfishly and leaned in to sniff the woman's hair. "We have ways of finding out who you _really_ are."

The teenager felt the bile rise in his throat as his lip curled up in disgust. He had half a mind to dispatch both Nords, if there had not been guards or a stranger to witness his slayings. The stranger in iron armor approached the Dark Elf woman as the pair of drunks slunk towards Candlehearth Hall. Aventus strode past the man and woman conversing, his eyes not leaving the two Nords until they had both disappeared into the tavern.

Jogging towards the Palace of the Kings, Aventus felt the fury heat his lower back just as the dragon fire ignited down his spine now. He despised how people could get away with atrocities due to their station or injustice or the secrets victims were too afraid to reveal. People like that, people like Grelod, should have been destroyed: they did not deserve to live, not if they tormented others.

He pushed open the palace doors and entered. Galmar and Ulfric both turned at the sound. While the man-bear seemed surprised, Ulfric had a smirk upon his face. "And so the triumphant returns." The man on the throne announced.

"I owe Ulfric a drink," Galmar laughed as Aventus walked up to him, "I have to admit, after you did not return in a day, I did not think I would be seeing you again. I misjudged you."

"I apologize for the delay. Running on foot is not as fast as riding a horse." Aventus retorted.

Ulfric gave out a hearty laugh. "Indeed not."

"You have the ice wraith teeth, then?" Galmar asked, turning back to the recruit.

"Would I return if I had not?" The dark-haired teen brandished the small leather pouch and emptied it into the Nord's burly hand. The teeth had nearly frozen Aventus' fingers solid when he first harvested them, and he was reluctant to relive such an experience.

"Some fools do," the General replied, poking the teeth without any visual discomfort. Satisfied, he nodded and pocketed the trophies. "You have proven yourself to be Stormcloak material, Aretino. It is now time to recite our words, only then will you be able to join our ranks, serve Ulfric, and aid us in restoring Skyrim to her former glory. You can stick a sword through an Imperial, but that does not make you a Stormcloak. We fight to restore Skyrim and give her the king she deserves."

Green eyes flashed to the man seated on the throne, and Aventus was not sure if the self-proclaimed king was what Skyrim deserved; and until Ulfric sat upon the throne in Solitude, in the teen's mind, the man would be nothing more than a Jarl. Still, Aventus had no other choice but to concede: Ulfric had promised he would help him find his friends, and Aventus was intent on seeing the man true to his word. Returning his gaze to the General, Aventus nodded.

"That's the spirit," the man proclaimed, his eyes gleaming. "By swearing this oath, you become one of us: a hero of the people, a true Son of Skyrim, a Stormcloak. Repeat after me: I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak..."

"I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak..."

"Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim."

"Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim."

"As Talos as my witness..."

"As Talos as my witness..."

"Let this oath bind me to death and beyond."

"Let this oath bind me to death and beyond."

"Even to my lord as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms..."

"Even to my lord as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms."

"All hail the Stormcloaks, the true Sons and Daughters of Skyrim!"

"All hail the Stormcloaks, the true Sons and Daughters of Skyrim." Aventus said the words, yet his heart and his mind were not in them.

Still, he spoke with enough fervor, Galmar beamed with pride. "Now you are one of us, Aventus Aretino. Here," he pulled a bundle from one of the tables lining the hall and handed it to the new Stormcloak. "Since you are a Stormcloak, you might as well look the part!"

A pair of hands clapped and Ulfric rose from his throne. He descended the stairs and strode up to Aventus. "Well done, Aventus, well done. Go ahead and get dressed," he threw his head in the direction of the map room. "Once Galmar pours me a pint of mead, we can discuss your duties as my squire."

Aventus stepped into the map room. As he slung off his pack and unbelted his daggers, the teen kept his ears pricked for the discussion between the General and his king.

"I cannot believe you doubted the boy, Galmar." he heard Ulfric chuckle. Aventus began to undress, moving as quietly as possible so as not to obscure any words from his hearing.

"He is not a boy anymore, my King. By our customs, by our laws, he is a man." A liquid of some kind sloshed into one tankard and was followed by another.

There was a pause before the Jarl spoke again, Aventus assumed he drank a bit of his drink. "You are right... What has the world come to, Galmar? He is only just a boy, truly. Yet he is eager to join our cause."

"If I recall, you were not much older than he when you fought in the Great War." The teen had detected the pair had moved towards the throne, and Aventus began to dress himself into the Stormcloak uniform.

"A different time, a different war."

"War is still war."

"What of the Imperials? Have our scouts discovered anything on their new recruits?"

"Aye, all fresh and young, some as young as our own Aventus."

Straining to hear the words, Aventus belted on his weapons, cloak, and pack. "Could any be his friends?" The teen's heart stopped in his chest. What if he was forced to face his friends in combat? He had not considered that situation.

"I think not," Galmar negated, though he paused afterwards for a brief moment. "One scout reported the young boys seen in the training yard were locals from Solitude and were in fact _not_ orphans."

Aventus heaved a sigh of relief and, after a moment of consideration, deemed not to wear the helmet. Instead, he placed it inside his pack and joined the General and Jarl in the hall. He arrived just in time to see a courier dart out of the hall; an envelope hung from Galmar's hand.

"Eastmarch blue suits you, Aventus," the man-bear stated, he stood up straighter and while he did not smile, Aventus saw the pride in his eyes. "You will make a fine Stormcloak."

"Indeed," Ulfric agreed. "Now, I assume you would like to know what duties I have for you."

Aventus nodded. "Yes sir." The sound of rustling parchment reached the newly dubbed Stormcloak's ears and he saw Galmar reading the contents of a letter. From the grimace on his face, Aventus doubted it held good news.

The Jarl stood and brandished a steel longsword from his side. He stared at its length with pride. "Do you know what this is, Aventus?" The teenager shook his head. "This is Skyforge steel. Eorlund Gray-Mane himself forged this for me when I was a lad." After admiring it for a few more seconds, the man sheathed his sword and held out both sword and sheath horizontally, indicating for Aventus to take it. "Take my blade and sharpen it at Oengul's. If you are unsure of your skills, I am certain he will show you a thing or two."

Taking the blade from the man, Aventus nodded and spun around, dashing out of the hall. On his way out, the man in the suit of iron armor sprinted in and Aventus overheard Galmar grumble, "Balgruuf refuses to send a straight answer."

The blizzard had not cleared as he had hoped and Aventus found himself in a world of white once again. After cursing snow and Arkay for sending an early winter, Aventus made his way to the blacksmith. A young Nordic woman sat at the grinding stone as Oengul hammered away at a cuirass on the workbench.

"Did you need something?" the girl asked, noticing Aventus when she looked up from her work. Her gray eyes flashed to his armor and she smiled.

"Just the grinding stone, miss, when you are finished with it, of course." The dark-haired teen did not wish to be rude. He had heard Oengul had taken on an apprentice before he had left for Honorhall, and he assumed this young woman was her.

"She will be there all day, boy," the blacksmith griped, not looking up from his work, "Go ahead an' kick her off."

Aventus made no move to take the Nord up on his offer and instead waited patiently. Despite his behavior, the girl sighed and stood, motioning him to take the seat instead. Nodding deeply to the girl, Aventus took out one of his daggers and examined its blade. Jasia had taught them how to sharpen their blades, but it had been nearly a month since Aventus had encountered a decent grinding stone and he did not wish to damage the Jarl's prized blade. Setting his blade to the stone, he went to work.

After he flipped his knife over to sharpen its doubled edge, the girl began to converse. "I have not seen you around Windhelm, are you a new recruit?"

"I became a Stormcloak today, actually." Aventus did not look up from his work, desiring to get the perfect edge on his blade.

"How exciting!" from the sound of her voice, the dark-haired teen imagined the girl would have sparkles dazzling in her eyes at that moment.

"Yes," he continued slowly, finding the right words to say, "I am honored to serve Skyrim and her people." He sheathed his first blade and began to sharpen his second dagger.

"As am I. Smithing... is not particularly exciting," she admitted, "but we all must lend a hand as best we can. If a Stormcloak uses one of my blades to strike down an Imperial soldier, then I have done my part to free our land."

Aventus felt as if she wanted him to say something in response, but he was not sure what to say exactly. Instead, satisfied with the work he had done on his daggers, he pulled out Ulfric's blade.

The girl gasped in elation. "Why, that, if I am not mistaken, is Ulfric's sword! The same one he used to slay Torygg!"

Hearing the blacksmith grumble at his apprentice's chatter, Aventus detected the man turn around and look at the blade. "Girl, that is -" he cut himself short. "That is..."

Aventus placed the blade on the grinding stone. The pair of blacksmiths remained silent as he worked, and he felt as if they were scrutinizing every movement he made. After a few minutes, he raised the blade from the stone and examined its edge. To his surprise, the girl's face appeared on the other side of the blade.

He saw her smile and she whispered, "It is perfect."

Sheathing the sword, Aventus stood and thanked the blacksmiths, "Thank you for your aid." He spun on his heel and made his way towards the north end of the city.

"Wait!" the girl called out.

The teen turned his head and raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

Flustered, the apprentice was at a loss for words for a few moments. Finally, she held out her hand and said, "I am called Hermir Strong-Heart."

Aventus took the girl's hand and shook it once. "Aventus Aretino," A flash of astonishment and alarm crossed Hermir's face. Aventus quickly added, "squire to Ulfric Stormcloak."

The girl's eyes widened and, while he estimated her to be a few years older than him, seemed giddier than a five year old who had just been gifted a sweetroll. "Ulfric! His squire!" She smiled wider. "I imagine we will be seeing a lot more of each other. And you can tell me all about him and what he has you do!"

"Hermir!" the blacksmith yelled.

"Yes sir," she called back. Hermir turned back to Aventus. "I look forward to our next meeting, Aventus."

The teen simply nodded and watched her run back to the forge. He turned around and doubled back towards Candlehearth Hall. One of his targets limped out of the tavern: Angrenor. Aventus followed the drunk, just barely keeping him in sight through the white storm. Eventually, the man stumbled into an alley. Aventus charged forward, detecting no one but the beggar, and clamped his hand over the man's mouth.

Without a word, he sliced open the Nord's throat with his blade and threw him to the ground. The man grabbed at his neck but it was too late. He flipped himself over and saw the teenager standing over him. A look of horror crossed his face as blood gushed out of his wound. Eyes wide open, the pitiful excuse for a life left the beggar's body and he laid still on the snow. The man, if one could call him that, had been so dismal and feeble, the kill reminded Aventus of slaughtering a rabbit: the task was simple, disappointing, yet necessary.

Aventus quickly wiped his dagger on the man's clothes and assessed his own attire. Content he had nothing to fear, the teenager strode confidently through the blizzard, leaving the body to the elements. The sun was beginning to set on the city and Aventus stood at the entrance to the Gray Quarter, waiting. He recalled hearing the Nord scream profanities at the Dark Elves during the night when he was a child: his family home had been seated right above the slums the Dark Elves called home and not even the thick, stone walls could block out the vulgar words the second town drunk spewed.

As sure as the sun, Rolff staggered into the Gray Quarter. He took a sharp right and his momentum careened him towards a pile of barrels. Aventus knew the sound would surely attract someone. Racing as fast as he could he caught the man by the arm right before he fell into the barrels.

Rolff looked at Aventus and smiled. "Tha-"

The teen cut open the filth's throat, just as he had done with his friend. The Nord clutched his wound, trying to stop or at least slow the flow of blood. However, Aventus' blade was razor-sharp and his aim was unmatched. He watched Rolff take his final breaths before he cleaned his weapon, wiped himself off, and cleaned his hands in the snow. Not wanting any witnesses to see him exiting the Gray Quarter, Aventus quickly scaled the wall leading up to his house and vaulted over.

He landed softly and returned to the Palace of the Kings. Thinking to himself, he retracted his earlier curse against Arkay: perhaps an early winter was not so horrendous after all. Pushing open the doors, the man in iron armor sped past him once again. He ignored the strange man and approached Ulfric.

"Ah, Aventus," the Jarl smiled. "Though I must say, I had expected you earlier."

"I apologize, sir. I wanted to ensure your blade was as sharp as your wit." Aventus did not lie... though he had left out a few details.

Ulfric did not seem to notice. He laughed and said, "Flattery will get you nowhere, young one." Unsheathing his sword, he examined its edges. "Though your sharpening skills _might_ get you somewhere." The Jarl nodded to himself and sheathed his sword, buckling it to his waist.

Aventus could not help but realize, like the stranger cloaked in black he had met so long ago, he too preferred to remain silent.

* * *

 _ **So, I just realized I was switching between writing the chapter numbers and writing out the chapter numbers (how embarrassing). I fixed it so they're all the same style now.**_

 _ **Yes! I'm early on this one. It's late over here, but I just finished it, it's not going to get any further changes, and I wanted to post it so... yeah!**_

 _ **I also managed to get the moderators to add Aventus as a character, so now all of the main characters are properly tagged. Don't know why the other fanfic authors never got around to submitting the character request, they responded fairly quickly to my e-mail. Doesn't matter, he's listed now, so I hope the other authors will tag him in their stories to make everything easier for readers.**_

 _ **As a side note, I am assuming Sofie and Aventus had seen each other in passing but never really got to know one another {makes things easier on me and I can continue with the Aventus x Lucia pairing without drama [speaking of which, some of you might be wondering where Lucia is... she's safe. That's all you need to know. (blatantly stolen from Jade Empire, awesome game by the way)]}.**_

 _ ** _And if you're wondering why I capitaliz_ e "Sons of Skyrim", technically it's a faction in the game and I'm treating it as such here.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading guys!**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:**

 _I'm assuming it takes a bit for the Forsworn King to hear word of things, decide what to do, and get a message out. And if you remember, I was making Skyrim and cities a lot bigger so even though there are only nine agents_ not _imprisoned, there should honestly be more in a larger city. In other words, I'm adding another Forsworn agent._

 _I'm also assuming the bulk of the Forsworn are extremely organized and not as careless as Weylin (who leaves his dead drop orders in his personal chest? Wouldn't you_ burn _it or something so people can't trace things back to your leaders? I'm sure there's a protocol for that)._

 _Also, wouldn't it make sense for a curfew to be instated for Markarth in response to the Forsworn threat? Yes, the conspiracy; but again, I don't think Jarl Igmund is in on it because the quest does not implicate him._

 _Since Hreinn is very... naive (he asks why his mother and father fight and if he'll have to "talk loudly" with his own wife) and both he and his sister look fairly young, I am going to make them approximately in their late teens._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

"Ow! Stop! That hurts!" The blonde boy continued to raise the shaft of his greataxe to prevent the two maces from smashing in his face.

His assailant did not stop her onslaught; if anything, it only infuriated her even more. She increased her pace, swinging wildly at the boy and releasing her pent up frustrations. Her victim struggled to match her speed and his hold on his weapon slowly began to weaken. Suddenly, the girl threw a side kick into the boy's stomach, knocking him to the ground.

Air escaped the boy's lungs and he stared up at the red, twilight sky. The pair's shoulders rose and fell with each intake of breath, the ridge now silent from the absence of their combat. Finally, the boy pushed himself into a sitting position and glared at his companion. "That's no fair!"

The brunette sheathed her weapons. "I doubt the Forsworn will fight fair, Hroar. You must be prepared." Ignoring the boy's grumbling, Runa turned her head up and sighed. They had been out longer than she had realized; night would be upon them soon and she did not wish to find themselves locked out of the city gates. "Come, we must make haste." She did not wait for a response. Instead, she raced off the ridge and hurried past the stables.

A few of Banning's hounds barked once, announcing the newcomers' presence to their master. The young man simply waved once at the pair and Runa politely returned the gesture. Rubbing her upper arms for warmth as the temperature began to drop, Runa's thoughts diverted to the dismal state of their equipment.

The leather straps securing their armor to themselves needed replacement. The flanges on the heads of her maces had grown dull from seasons of smashing into animal skulls and the armor of her companions from sparring. Even Hroar's leather grip on his iron greataxe was beginning to fray. Deep, long gouges dug into their matching iron breastplates where bears and blades had tried to rend them in two.

Runa smiled at the memory of Hroar insisting everyone in the group have matching sets of armor. At first, he required everyone to wear iron armor; but Sofie's lack of endurance and Alesan's agility proved light armor was also required. Still, the Nord got his way: whether it was cut from leather or forged from iron, he demanded the nine of them have the two blades of Riften embossed or engraved on their chest. Aventus had vehemently disagreed, insisting their worst memories were in Riften. Hroar's rebuttal was to remind him Riften was the city in which they had all met. Sam demonstrated his leadership and offered a compromise: two downward blades crossing, an inversion of the Riften sigil. No one could argue with his suggestion.

The girl sighed to herself and she wished the boy could be with her now to help guide her; she knew Sam would always lead her down the right path. For now, however, she was resigned to pursuing revenge against the Forsworn. Once they could no longer harm the ones she cared for, then could she search for the others. Runa and Hroar bounded up the stairs to the gates and nodded to the guards just as the red sky shifted to pink and periwinkle.

"Cutting it close," one of them said before pounding his fist against the metal door. "You best arrive earlier next time. Not all who wear this armor are as... sympathetic."

"I apologize, sir. It will not happen again." Runa reassured as the city was opened. The pair hurried into the Silver-Blood Inn, not wanting to receive a reprimand from a patrolling guard for venturing out during dusk. Smoke and the mixed stench of burnt venison, ale, and body odor filled her nostrils. Her lip curled up with disgust, yet they had no choice but to enter: Uthane had already paid for their meals and beds for yet another week.

"Welcome to the Silver-Blood Inn," the young man with dirty blonde hair smiled at Runa as he continued to sweep dirt and bits of broken glass across the floor. Runa politely smiled at the innkeeper's son and searched for the Bretons. "Is there something I can help you with, Runa?"

Eyes scanning the room, Runa craned her neck and shifted her weight from foot to foot in an attempt to get a better view. "Have the mages from High Rock arrived?"

Hreinn leaned closer to the girl and pointed a finger towards the back of the room, his arm extending in front of her. Runa followed the direction he was pointing to and smiled once again at the older boy. "Thank you, Hreinn."

The seven mages were seated before the fire pit, eating and, unlike the rest of the inn, in complete silence. Andoryan's eyes were already upon them and, grinning, he waved them over. The pair of Nords shuffled past the innkeeper's son before almost running into the woman who had been attacked by Forsworn the week before. Muttering an "Excuse me", Runa led Hroar past the woman, a huge Nordic mercenary, the elderly bard, and the terrifying meat merchant.

As they finally approached the fire, Andoryan greeted them. "It warms my heart to see you once again, Miss Fair-Shield."

It took the entirety of Runa's self-control to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She had grown tired of the "formalities" and simply wished the older boy would speak to her like a normal person. "Yes, we have returned." It was only in that moment Runa noted the way the senior mages had seated themselves slightly apart from the Restoration and Mysticism mages and the two Nordic teens. The elders exchanged words in hushed tones, just low enough so the other four could hear their voices but were unable to make out distinct words.

The innkeeper's daughter hurried over, arms laden with several plates heaped with cuts of beef and pork. She set the plates before Hroar and the boy eagerly snatched them from her hands, stuffing his cheeks full of meat. The young woman turned away to hide her smile as the blonde teen released a muffled, "Thank you!"

"I will return shortly with yours, miss." she assured, placing a hand on Runa's shoulder. Nodding in response, the girl smirked; she was too preoccupied silently counting the other girl's stares directed at her companion.

"I could not help but notice," Andoryan spoke up as he swirled brandy around in his goblet, "the innkeeper's son, he seems to have taken a liking to you." He drank and his tone had been calm, yet the way he stared at her over the rim of his glass made Runa uneasy.

From the way Vyctyn's ears perked up, Runa knew she would be listening intently to the conversation that would inevitably follow. The brunette simply shrugged. "We _have_ been lodging here for a week, and, by now, he surely knows who I am."

"Were the two of you..." he paused, seemingly searching for a word, "close when you lived here?" The long-haired blonde locked eyes with Runa.

The girl did not understand why any of it mattered. "Not particularly. I would see him in passing when he and his sister were sent out by their mother to fetch something from the market, but they never ventured out of the inn. They were always working."

Hreinn's sister, Hroki, presented a bowl of mushroom and venison stew alongside a mug of green tea to the girl. Runa thanked her and accepted her favorite meal from the barmaid. The older girl placed a tankard of water on a stool in front of Hroar and offered a smile before rushing away to answer another patron's request.

"And they still are," Runa stated. The Restoration mage grimaced but returned to his food. Ignoring his strange behavior, Runa leaned forward to ask a question to the other mages, though she kept her voice low to avoid any unwanted attention, "Have we made any progress with our... mutual friends?"

To Runa's surprise, Vyctyn replied. "The locals refuse to speak with us." She nibbled on a quail's leg before continuing. "Not even the woman who was attacked in the market will offer a word to us." The brunette glanced at the Nordic woman sitting alone in a corner. The Forsworn were a menace, yet no one agreed to talk. How could they expect things to change if they refused to cooperate?

After another hour of conversing, the group was ready to turn in for the day: women in one room, men in the other. Runa had been skeptical at first, both unsure of how four women could fit into a single room and afraid Vyctyn would smother her in her sleep. Nevertheless, the innovation of mages surprised her. Between Vyctyn and Elayne, the tiny, single bed room had been transformed into a large suite divided into four compartments. If Runa had been told she would thank Vyctyn that first night in Markarth, the Nord would have laughed.

The four women entered their room and retired for the night.

Runa's eyes snapped open, the last tendrils of her dream fading away from her mind. Her heart pounded in her chest and her hands flew to her maces. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on her boots as quickly and quietly as she could. Gathering her equipment, she crept out of her chamber and peered into the adjacent, doorless rooms. Gwynolda laid in her bed, asleep.

The brunette took a step back to look into the Illusion mage's room, when she bumped into something behind her. Hand closing over the grip of her mace, she whirled around and swung at the presence behind her. A flash of green washed over her and she froze in place, unable to move. Runa came face to face with the presence, but her arm remained fixed in its mid-swing position.

Vyctyn's gray eyes stared at Runa and blinked in surprise. "You are in luck, Vyctyn," Elayne's voice whispered. "If I had been any slower, you would no longer have a head." The mage in green robes waved her hand and Runa dropped her arm from beside the Mysticism mage's head to Runa's side.

"What is occurring?" Runa hissed, her nerves still on edge.

Entering the sleeping woman's chambers, Elayne allowed Vyctyn to elaborate. "I have detected a stranger just outside the men's door. From their movements, I have determined they are attempting to enter their room."

Runa felt the blood drain from her face. She dashed to the door, keeping her steps just as silent as she would if she had been hunting. She hefted her mace in her hand and Elayne whispered in her ear. "He has just entered their room, we must make haste!" Another flash, this time of blue, appeared and the creaky, wooden door opened without a sound.

The four women darted out of the room, into the candlelit hall, and sprinted silently into their companions' room. A spark of violet adjusted Runa's vision to see in the small, dark room and her eyes immediately locked onto a figure crouched over a sleeping form. She charged forward and cracked her mace against the intruder's head.

As he fell to the ground, she raised her weapon above her head to strike again but she once again found herself paralyzed. The men in the room leapt to their feet at the struggle... all except Perynak, the Alchemist. He remained still in his bed, a flow of blood gushing from his open throat.

Gwynolda cried out in shock and grief, Andoryan rushed to the man's side but Uthane stopped him. The eldest Breton shook his head at the youngest. Everyone's eyes drifted to the petrified man on the floor. "Tend to his wounds, Andoryan." the lead mage ordered.

"Perynak..." the Destruction mage whispered as the mage in white stooped down beside the intruder.

"There is nothing we can do for him." Uthane concluded.

Elayne placed a hand on the Alteration mage's forearm. "He must be buried."

The man looked from the attacker to his fallen friend. "Gwynolda, Edwistair, Hroar, would you please take Perynak outside the city gates to be read his last rights?" The mages nodded while Hroar stared at the corpse in shock. "Elayne, if you would please." Edwistair motioned to the Nord and the pair lifted the Alchemist off of the bed.

Waving her hands, the Illusion mage concentrated for a moment before the group disappeared from view. After a few moments, the door closed. "Where should we take him?" Elayne asked, her eyes burning with ferocity.

"To the authorities, of course," Andoryan looked up, "Where else might you suggest?"

"We have been met with nothing but opposition since we began asking questions." Vyctyn reminded her colleague.

Uthane nodded. "We cannot go to the authorities. Even if we did, he would be locked up in Cidnha mine and we would be unable to question him. We must take him to a discrete location for questioning."

"Vlindrel," the brunette stated before she realized she had spoken. The four mages surrounding her stared. "It is abandoned. If we are followed, Vyctyn can detect them and Elayne can ensure our escape."

The Alteration mage blinked in approval. "I find your logic sound." Vyctyn cast a pink spell at the frozen man and he was lifted into the air. Uthane stood at the front, followed by the paralyzed man, Elayne, Vyctyn, Runa, and Andoryan. Each able to move placed their hands on the previous' right shoulder, save the paralyzed man who floated above the short Illusion mage. She raised a hand and everyone disappeared.

Runa felt Vyctyn begin to walk forward and she followed. Their footsteps fell silent upon the inn's stone floor and the group strode out and into the city beneath the midnight moon. The group hurried quickly up the steps, causing Runa to almost trip several times due to her inability to spy her own feet. She was forced to adapt quickly, however, as they avoided patrolling guards by stepping out of the way and waiting patiently. Finally, they arrived at Vlindrel Hall. A golden blaze came into Runa's vision and the door swung open. Soon, they were all surrounded by cobwebs and a vacant stone abode.

As Uthane cast an orb of light into the room and the others prepared the empty kitchen for the interrogation, Runa slowly walked around the place she once called home. Everything was gone: the dining table, the chairs, her mother's library, her father's armory, even the handwoven tapestries she had watched her mother make over the years. The only things present were cobwebs, abandoned by their weavers.

"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" an enraged voice echoed off the walls. Runa returned to the front of the empty house and took a good look at the Forsworn agent. Like all Forsworn, he was a Breton. Dark hair fell down to his clean shaven chin and his pale green eyes stared defiantly up at Uthane. He looked rather strange, standing motionless before the older man yet his head and mouth moved freely. He spat in the man's face, almost daring him to strike him.

"Who commanded you to slay us?" Uthane asked calmly.

"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

"Who commanded you to-"

"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

"Who -"

"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

Runa was beginning to doubt the man understood anything other than the six word phrase he screamed continuously. Uthane sighed and nodded to Elayne. The woman raised a hand and the man's eyes became shrouded in fear.

"Who commanded you to slay us?" the Alteration mage repeated.

"Red Eagle will rise again," the man chanted in fear, his eyes darting around as if he were surrounded by some terrible beasts. "and all who stand in his path shall perish! But he will spare the loyal!"

The girl grew irritated at the man's ranting and raving. They needed answers. She strode forward, her iron gloved hand clenched into a fist. Andoryan pulled her back as she approached. "Hold." he insisted.

" _Who_ commanded you?"

"Red Eagle! Red Eagle!"

"Trouble." the redhead announced. Elayne paralyzed the screaming man once more and the group fell back in line, descending into darkness as Uthane cut out his light.

The metal doors swung inward, revealing the "trouble" Vyctyn described as several Markarth guards. The men and women brandished torches and stormed into the empty hall. Runa suppressed a sigh of relief after she found she could not see the Mysticism mage's red hair nor her own hand on her shoulder. Rushing forward, the group dodged and weaved between the newcomers. Once again, their movements were silent and the line was careful not to come into contact with the guards. They may have been invisible, but that did not mean they were intangible: one brush against a guard's shoulder would certainly guarantee capture.

As they bounded down the steps, Runa whispered into Vyctyn's ear, "Could you not levitate us out of the city to meet with the others?" She stepped hastily yet carefully, knowing if she fell she would bring down the entire line.

The redhead murmured in return, "I cannot. Only immobile objects may be moved by way of telekinesis." Runa rolled her eyes. Mages and their rules.

By the light of the moon, the group strode to the ramparts of the city gates. The girl peered over the side of the wall, down to the stables below. It was not the worst fall she could encounter, but it was not one she would like to experience.

"Uthane says we must walk off the side of the wall." Vyctyn whispered to Runa.

"I am _not_ -"

"There is no other choice." There was not time for Runa to protest as Vyctyn surged forward and Andoryan pushed her from behind. The girl's eyes widened and she opened her mouth in a silent scream... before she found herself walking on air.

"How!?" she hissed to the redhead.

From the tone of her high-pitched voice, Runa could tell Vyctyn was smirking at her. "Uthane applied his theory on water walking to air." They walked over and around the stables to a clearing nestled in the rocks to the northeast of the city. They found Edwistair commanding several skeletons to fill a hole with dirt.

Elayne released her invisibility spell and Uthane landed the group and their prisoner before their comrades. "We are unable to return to Markarth." he began.

As he explained the situation to the rest of the group, the Illusion mage glanced up at the sky. "It is time to rest, we will need it tomorrow." She glanced at Edwistair and the Conjuration mage quickly assembled a ring of nine tents around a fire pit. After a moment, he realized his mistake and removed a tent.

Runa sighed, unsure of how she could help the mages cope with their loss. Deciding there was nothing she could do, the girl crawled into a tent and tried to sleep. She laid herself on her back and stared up at the point in her tent. Allowing her mind to wander, she began to wonder why the guards would search for them. If they truly did want aid in the fight against the Forsworn... then it hit her.

Perhaps the guards did not want aid. But why? The Forsworn were responsible for disappearances and murders. It made no sense to Runa. She sighed and shook her head, knowing that if she continued upon the trail of thought she would never sleep. Instead, she closed her eyes and began to remember the days she and Sam and Hroar would laugh and spar.

She remembered Sam's blue eyes and brown hair and that stupid, crooked grin that crossed his face whenever he had done something foolish. Runa smiled and shook her head again. Her breathing began to slow and she felt herself drifting off into sleep. A hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes snapped open. She released a scream of terror before her world turned to black.

* * *

 _ **Hey guys, sorry, I know it's late. Parents have said we have financial issues so I've been applying to get a second job. I hope I can continue to post twice a week; but if things get crazy, I'll probably have to reduce it to once a week (like this week). I'm not abandoning it, life is just getting in the way of writing as much as I would like.**_

 _ **Again, sorry guys.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading, though! I really appreciate it!**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:**

 _I'm assuming the Legion does not break up the groups (the "wave" that arrived together) of recruits to encourage solidarity and because the group would already know each other from training. However, an exception would be made for a group of more experienced recruits to be broken up to lead the other groups._

 _From the UESP Lore page concerning the Imperial Legion, there are three types of legionaries (it should be spelled that way and not as "legionnaires" since that refers to modern legion members such as the French Foreign Legion): Battlemage, Ranger, and Legionary (the official term for a heavy infantryman in the Roman army). I am adding the Scout type since it's not listed but it is logical to have one (and we hear references to scouts all the time). Of course, I'm assuming there is some certification or class you must take in order to be classified as a specialized Legionary such as a Ranger or Battlemage or Scout (modern military members must do the same: e.g. Water Survival Training to become a Water Survival Training Instructor). Apparently, a Decanus led eight legionaries and two support units, making their squad a count of eleven (if we include the Decanus)._

 _I am also assuming Castle Dour has sufficient and separate lodging for recruits._

 _In this day and age, barracks are divided between the two sexes, not genders, male and female. Regardless of someone's identification, if they have male body parts, they are placed in the male barracks. Skyrim itself seems to be more liberal concerning homosexuality and marriage. Because of this, I am assuming the Stormcloaks do_ not _divide their barracks in any way (apart from individual bathrooms/bathhouses/chamber pot areas for that type of business) and I am assuming the Legion does the same since in, at least, Oblivion, the Empire seemed fairly liberal concerning marriage and physical relationships as well (referencing the Nord and Wood Elf couple in Anvil, ignoring the wife's infidelity though, and Haelga's Bunkhouse... not getting into that). I would imagine any inappropriate or unauthorized sexual conduct within either the Stormcloaks or the Legion would result in either a dishonorable discharge or would be hidden by the victim to avoid shame/dishonor._

 _I'm not calling anyone out, I'm not saying it's bad to be homosexual or identify as a different gender, I'm just stating the facts and extrapolating on Skyrim's liberal policy concerning homosexuality, marriage, etc. (although I am omitting the fact that there are no Argonian or Khajiit marriage candidates, I would imagine it is the same policy concerning beastfolk but the developers did not want to be labelled as "furries")._

 _Upon reviewing Sam's earlier chapters, I realize I mixed up the Prefect's race in Chapter Seven. He's supposed to be an Orc. Totally forgot. It's one thing to say "Imperial officer" it's another to reference him_ as _an Imperial. My bad, fixed it._

 _My dad spent twenty years in the Marine Corps and was a Drill Instructor, I'm basing the Legion training off of that stress, that training. Boot camp is not easy, it's an introductory to war. There will be profanity. I hadn't gone over it too much earlier, but we'll see a bit of it now._

 _Honestly, the docks at Solitude should be much larger and the ships should be too. Using the Emperor's ship,_ The Katariah _, as a basis for what type of ships the Legion has at its disposal, that makes me assume they have access to ships called barquentines. Assuming I'm doing my math correctly, I'm estimating these ships can have about 300 people on board, including crew. So, for 7000 Imperial Legion soldiers and at least 30 men per ship to sail it, I'm estimating the number of ships to be 25.9. But since we can't have 0.9 of a ship, 26 ships._

 _Also, Tullius seems like he hates his job... Since Skyrim thinks the war has been going on for years, I'm assuming Tullius will gain the hatred for his involvement in later years, but not several months into the campaign._

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

Samuel sat up in his cot, eyes snapping open and heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed down gulps of air and, realizing there was no immediate danger, placed a hand on his forehead. It had been more than a week since he had not suffered from a nightmare, and the ailment was beginning to hinder his abilities in training. Just yesterday, Okan-Ru had managed to backhand him across the face when Samuel had been unable to lift his shield up in time. He was not sure how much longer he could handle such a hindrance.

He looked around the barracks, eyes adjusting to the darkness and passing over the sleeping forms of the other recruits. To his relief, no one had seemed to be disturbed by his sudden waking. His only encouragement was that no one had discovered his condition.

The stone walls of the room echoed with snores and the steady, slow breathing of the recruits. He had discovered there had been three distinct groups of recruits, each joining at differing times. The first consisted of the Redguard Cyrus and five others. The second was Samuel's own group of eight. The third had only been training for two weeks and was comprised of several individuals who had been present at Roggvir's execution.

The Breton woman who had sneered at the Nord was Vivienne Onis, an aspiring apothecary whose cousin had been killed in a Stormcloak ambush. Sorex Vinius was an Imperial and Knud was Katla the farmer's son. Apparently, all three had been inspired by Roggvir's death and decided to join the Imperial Legion to aid in the fight against Ulfric. A whopping sixteen others had been present in the third group, bringing the count of recruits to thirty-three.

Samuel laid himself back down onto his cot and pulled the wool blanket over him, he knew he would not have much more time to rest, the Prefect would come barreling down the stone steps any moment to scream at them to wake up. Still, he knew he needed to get as much sleep as possible and no one was permitted to leave their cot in the middle of the night for any reason.

Metal armor clinked together and heavy footsteps descended down the stairs. Both sounds were eclipsed from the man's gruff, bellowing voice, "GET THE FUCK UP GET THE FUCK UP!" The red light of the torch in his hand illuminated the Prefect's scarred face. As everyone scrambled out of their beds, the Orc screamed, "GET YOUR UNIFORMS ON! YOUR ARMOR, YOUR SOCKS, YOUR BOOTS, YOUR BRACERS! NOW!"

Everyone knew better than to say anything. They followed orders, quickly pulling on their garments. Once everyone stood at attention at the foot of their beds, the Prefect had already lit the sconces within the barracks and continued with, "CHAMBER POTS! GO!"

Samuel fell in line, actively avoiding the shorter line consisting of solely women. He shuddered at the recollection of one of the male recruits screaming in horror upon entering the individual chamber pot room after a few of the women. From the way the recruit never again stepped into that line, and how the other men were content to joining the longer lines, Samuel concluded the recruit had not been jesting.

It had been the same routine every morning since they had spent the first night at Castle Dour. The day began with dressing, going into the individual rooms for taking care of personal business, cleaning the barracks, eating breakfast in the chow hall beside the barracks, and then heading to the courtyard for discussing tactics and techniques before sparring.

Once, the Prefect had ordered everyone to dress in only their boots, not their socks nor their armor. Samuel had made the mistake of dressing fully and was promptly slammed onto the ground by the fierce Orc. No one ever repeated the blunder after the incident.

As the recruits headed toward the courtyard, Samuel felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he came face to face with a Nord about his age: Knud. "Yes?" the Imperial asked, wondering what the boy had to say to him.

"Is it true you lived in Honorhall Orphanage? In Riften?" the dark-haired boy questioned, though Samuel knew the boy already knew the answer.

Samuel felt a twinge of annoyance flash through him. It had not been his goal to allow everyone to learn of his heritage, yet Knud insisted on reminding him of it. He turned to look straight ahead once again and muttered, "You know it to be true."

"Then you must know of a boy named Blaise," Samuel could practically hear the smile on the boy's face. The Imperial's ears pricked up at the mention of his friend's name, though he feigned disinterest. Knud continued, "He was an orphan, like you. About our age. He worked for my family, you know. Absolutely useless he was. That is why he slept outside with the horses. If you cannot make yourself useful, you do not deserve to -"

The boy never finished his sentence. Samuel spun around and slammed his fist into the Nord's jaw. The other recruits hurried past, simultaneously having no desire to get involved in the scuffle and not wanting to receive a reprimand for slowing. Fury filled Samuel's fists and he charged towards the falling boy. Two rough hands yanked him back before he could beat in Knud's face.

"Do not waste your energy on him, wild boy," the broad-shouldered Redguard looked between the boys. "The enemy is out there." He pointed up the stairs. "Reserve it for them." Cyrus turned his back on the others and strode up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

Samuel did not wait for Knud, he simply followed the young man, hustling to catch up with the others. Dim rays of sunlight crept out over the stone walls and the men and women forced themselves to remain still, and not shiver in the morning dew hanging in the air. The recruits lined up in the courtyard, three rows of eleven men and women. The boy, being one of the last to assemble, stood in the final row towards the far right. Knud stood beside him, his jaw tightly shut, the Redguard on Samuel's left keeping the other boy in check under his intense glare.

"Recruits!" the Prefect barked.

"Yes sir!" the men and women straightened and answered back unanimously, their breath visible in the cold.

"As you all know, we are at war," the one-eyed Orc began to pace up and down the lines, hands held securely behind his back. "The Legion needs all the men they can muster. If we are to win this war, we must strike swiftly and skillfully." He stared at the assembly before him. "If any of you feel you are not prepared to fight this day, stand against the wall." He motioned to the stone wall of Castle Dour.

No one moved. No one budged. No one breathed.

Samuel's mind raced to answer the questions overtaking him. Were they really to fight this day or was it simply a question? If they felt they were not prepared, would they receive more training? Some recruits had scarcely been present for two weeks, Samuel himself had been training for three weeks. Was this yet another test of their devotion to the war? The boy inhaled and calmed himself, smothering the questions in his mind. Whatever the purpose of the question was, he needed to provide an answer.

He chose to remain in line.

Several other recruits seemed to mull over the opportunity, but whether it was out of the fortitude of their peers or from their own inner strength, no one broke from the line.

The Orc ran his eye over the recruits once more. "You all feel prepared, then?"

"Sir, yes sir!" they called as one, each feeling a sense of duty. Each had volunteered to join, after all, it was not as if they had been forced to enlist.

The man could barely suppress his grin, "Then head to the armory and obtain your arms, there is much to do this day." Samuel could not help but notice the concern in the Prefect's single eye.

Buzzing with excitement, the recruits headed back into Castle Dour. As they stood in yet another line, waiting to be issued their weapons, they whispered to one another before the master-at-arms snarled at them for silence. Samuel had been issued a steel longsword and steel shield, the Imperial dragon had been embossed on the blade's crossguard and shield's face. Once he returned to the courtyard with the other recruits, he hefted his blade and gazed down its length, testing its balance and edge; the chill in his limbs had been all but forgotten.

"Is the blade up to your standards, Master Wild?" a familiar voice asked.

"The blade is solid," the brown-haired boy nodded to Selene. "Though the weight of the shield will take some getting used to, much heavier than the one I used in training." Already his arm was beginning to ache from lifting it into a quick defensive position.

The Breton examined her own mace with pride before the Prefect ordered for them to form up. Rucksacks lined the base of the castle wall, Samuel spied his own pack among the group. A second man, garbed in gleaming steel Imperial armor, stood beside the Orc and brandished a long scroll. Samuel recognized the second man as the one who had called out names of prisoners in Helgen, the same man who had been a part of their escort to Solitude.

"The Imperials _love_ their lists." Godrel muttered to Samuel.

"The following recruits must step forward," the Nord called, "Ra'sha, Cyrus, Guln." The male Redguard, female Khajiit, and male Orc strode forward, heads held high. Samuel noted how the three had been part of the first group of recruits, thus some of the most experienced. "Based on Prefect Grommok's reports, you three have been selected for the promotion to the rank Decanus. You each will lead ten men into battle: eight legionaries and either two apothecaries or one apothecary and one Novice of the magic school of Restoration."

Directing the three Decanus to stand a bit further from one another, the Imperial officer continued. "The following recruits must step behind Ra'sha: Sharona, Aurnes, Lylvtenne, Veron Callal, Chiwaava, Ferylse Randvel, Niruvir, Gruug, Jeanderic Canaire, Sorex Vinius, Knud." After the ten individuals lined up behind the Khajiit, the officer announced, "You are henceforth promoted to the rank of Legionary, Ra'sha is your squad leader."

"The following recruits must step behind Cyrus: Elanil, Vivienne Onis, Selene Kingston, Fadril Valaai, Samuel, Cirwen, Okan-Ru, Godrel, Anarath Sintav, Haming. You are henceforth promoted to the rank of Legionary, Cyrus is your squad leader." The man repeated the ceremony for the remaining recruits, lining them behind Decanus Guln.

Once the officer rolled up his scroll, the Prefect stepped forward. "Grab your bags, head out of the city, and assemble outside of the city gates. Centurion Ignan will receive you and give you your next orders. By the Eight, good luck."

Striding to the packs, each Legionary slung their own pack onto their back and followed their Decanus out of the courtyard. No one dared to speak a word, unsure of how the senior officers would react to unauthorized conversation. The city was still and silent in the early morning sun, the merchants had not even roused to open their stalls and shops. Decanus Guln and Decanus Ra'sha had stopped their squads to quickly converse or simply admire the beauty of Solitude one final time. Decanus Cyrus did not stop. As they passed the execution platform, Samuel turned away, hiding his grimace.

"Report!" a tall, broad-shouldered man bellowed as the three squads exited the city. Deep scores in his armor revealed him to be a seasoned soldier, yet his steel plate shone magnificently in the sunlight. He held his helmet securely beneath an arm, revealing a warrior stripe of brown hair flecked with gray and hard, green eyes which scowled at the younger legionaries.

"Decanus Cyrus and his squad, sir!" the Redguard replied.

"Ah, the new bloods," the man suddenly chuckled, his face softening. "I am called Centurion Ignan, your commanding officer." He threw his head to the West, towards the second city gate. "Assemble yourselves beyond the wall. General Tullius will speak momentarily."

It seemed as if the entirety of the Imperial Legion had been called to Solitude. A sea of men and women in red and brown and steel stretched out as far as the eye could see. They simply whispered to one another, their combined voices barely louder than plain-spoken words. The warmth from the collection of bodies overwhelmed Samuel, and he soon began to sweat. The fresh legionaries refrained from speaking, still unsure of Cyrus' demeanor towards them. Several minutes passed by before the other two squads joined, and even then the General was nowhere to be found.

As Samuel began to lose hope, a voice called out from the ramparts, "Men and women of the Imperial Legion," the crowd fell silent and gazed up at the General. From the ground, Samuel could still see the hard expression on the man's wrinkled face. The boy concluded the man had no desire to speak, though he proceeded dutifully and straight to the point, "The traitor Ulfric Stormcloak, has committed crimes against Jarl Elisif, the city of Solitude, the province of Skyrim, and the Empire. By murdering High King Torygg, he has soiled his honor. He has become a mad bear and has ravaged Skyrim and her people." The man paused, leaving the crowd anxious for his next words.

"Ulfric has evaded justice for far too long. _Now_ , we will face him. _Now_ , we will bring the fight to him and face him and slay him like the crazed beast he is. On this day, the Imperial Legion will strike out against the rebellion and begin the reclamation of the Holds Ulfric has taken from the rightful ruler of Skyrim. On this day, _you_ will fight his forces and best them. You are the Imperial Legion, and you are the Emperor's justice. Bring Ulfric to justice."

A deafening roar sounded around Samuel as the men and women screamed and cheered. The General disappeared from view and several commanding officers barked orders.

Centurion Ignan approached the new legionaries. "We are boarding _The Patient Hunter_ , along with one other century and several men and women managing provisions. Stay together and do not provoke the other soldiers. I will not protect you if you imply a Decanus' wife is a horker. Move out!"

The journey to the docks was chaotic, men and women jostled one another and moved as a mass as they descended down the hill. Tens of huge, three-masted ships sat, waiting in the harbor. Red sails were securely furled aloft on the yards of the masts, while a black flag emblazoned with the red Imperial dragon fluttered upon the bowspirit of each ship.

Samuel wanted to count the exact number of ships, but he resigned himself to ensuring his squad remained together and the crest of Ignan's hair was always in sight. Before long, they had reached a stand still as everyone attempted to move onto the docks at once.

His squad members began chatting to one another in a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "Nervous, wild boy?" a voice questioned.

Samuel looked up and was appalled to see the owner of the voice: Cyrus. Remembering he must reply, the boy shook his head. "No sir!"

"Do not lie, wild boy, I can see it clear in your eyes," the Decanus snorted. The roar of the Legion sounded around them, obscuring their conversation from prying ears. "Have you ever been in a fight?"

"Yes sir."

"With what?"

"Wolves, bears."

Cyrus chuckled and shook his head. "Spoken like a true hunter." he surveyed the boy, looking him up and down. "Never with bandits?"

"Once, before I learned to hunt, bandits attacked our convoy."

The Redguard raised a single eyebrow and after Samuel did not continue, he prompted, "And?"

"We ran."

Grimacing slightly, Samuel assumed the young man thought him to be a coward. "I am sure it is a tale to be heard, but that is for another time." Cyrus looked at Samuel, "The training you, _we_ , have received is adequate. You will not perish, do not fear. This first fight shall be simple and quick, we have plenty of able-bodied warriors. However, I suggest you train every day. We may be legionaries, but if you want to survive, you will have to learn to fight with more than just your bow."

"You sound as if we are to fight today." The Decanus' words made Samuel uneasy.

"General Tullius himself said we were. And if you had been using those ears of yours, you would have overheard Centurion Ignan discussing with his seasoned Decani we are to liberate Dawnstar."

"Dawnstar," Samuel exclaimed. "Why has he not told us?"

The Redguard shrugged and looked straight ahead, "Perhaps he knows not how to tell fresh blood they are to be sent for the slaughter. You have received three weeks of training, that is barely enough to be called a man, let alone a Legionary."

Samuel said nothing, stunned.

"As I said, do not fear. We will fight admirably. Just be sure to spar with me after the battle, I will teach you how to fight with a blade and shield."

Swallowing, the boy nodded, "Thank you, sir."

"Everyone is not great at everything immediately. The first day, I could jump around the other recruits with ease and still have enough energy to bash their skulls in," Cyrus smiled, "And yet, when it came to the archery challenge, I almost shot my own eye out!"

Samuel hid his smile, "You jest."

The young man shook his head. "No. I do not. From the way I can hit the target now, I understand how you would hardly believe that story. But it is true. Know your weaknesses, train, and improve. _That_ is how you survive, Wild. You may be able to shoot them full of holes, but if they are in your face, primed to gut you from crotch to head, you best be ready to gut them first."

Nodding and finally beginning to walk down the dock, Samuel's mind began to wander back to the impending battle.

"What is your age?"

"I am now fifteen."

"As in, today is your birthday?"

Samuel nodded. It was the fourteenth of Hearthfire, Sundas. Cyrus had been the only person he had revealed his birthday to. With all of the training and nightmares, Samuel had almost forgotten the importance of the day.

As the Redguard strode up the gangway onto the ship, he grinned at the boy, "Well wild boy, your gift shall be our victory at Dawnstar!"

* * *

 _ **So, as an update, my brother and I did manage to get a second job at the same company. We're working the midnight shift so that'll be interesting when college classes start back up. On the bright side, the money isn't too bad (above minimum wage) and I'll be getting stronger! I just hope I don't scare off guys with my muscles...**_

 ** _As soon as I get adjusted to the new schedule, I'll try to update more often._**

 _ **Remember, I'm always accepting constructive criticism and/or questions, comments, or concerns; just send me a PM or write a review or something!**_

 _ **Big shout out to Blackreach, thanks for the encouragement, it really means a lot!**_

 _ **Thanks guys for reading!**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

 _It doesn't make sense that Brunwulf Free-Winter is Elda Early-Dawn's lover when 1) they live in separate houses and they do not share a bed_ at all _and 2) she hates Dark Elves while he believes that everyone should be allowed to live freely in Skyrim, regardless of race. While their conversations reveal Brunwulf is definitely interested, it seems Elda is not, at least not in a committed relationship (her reluctance to leave the tavern and live with Brunwulf near Riften). I can give them the benefit of the doubt and accept that they do not share a bed and that he's committed and she's not; however, the fact that she despises the Dark Elves while he does not, proves to be a problem. I will simply assume their differing views and goals are putting a strain on their relationship, but they are still together._

 _I am assuming it is a mistake that Luaffyn, a Dark Elf rogue, performs at the Candlehearth Hall despite the proprietor hating Dark Elves. As such, I am moving her to New Gnisis Cornerclub. As a replacement bard for Candlehearth, there is always Susanna the Wicked, until Blood on the Ice, of course, and the bard-author Adonato Leotelli (though he seems to be more of an author than a bard)._

 _Also, it seems Captain Lonely-Gale was intended to be the Captain of the Guard in Windhelm. However, the dialogue never arises due to him not ever meeting the appropriate NPCs to trigger the dialogue. The closest thing Windhelm has to a Guard Captain is Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced, but he is listed as a Stormcloak Commander. The duties of Stormcloak Commander and Guard Captain differ so greatly, it does not make sense for Yrsarald to be Guard Captain. Therefore, Captain Lonely-Gale will be the Guard Captain for Windhelm._

 _Given Rolff Stone-Fist and Galmar Stone-Fist have the same last name, I am assuming they're brothers. As to why Galmar never speaks of his brother, Rolff despises Dark Elves whereas Galmar does not seem to care what race you are when joining the Stormcloaks: as long as you fight the Imperial Legion and want to restore Skyrim to its former glory, he's good with you. I would assume Galmar is ashamed of his brother._

 _Tea can be made from flowers, herbs, citrus fruit, and sweet spices. Being a girl who did not know much about tea and only drinks black or green tea, this was new to me._

 _I would have used Tamriel Rebuilt's name generator for random NPCs, but it seems to have been taken down for some reason; therefore, I'm trusting Fantasy Name Generators instead._

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

"The boy never speaks!" the woman hissed to one of her patrons from across the counter.

Tongues of fire cracked and devoured the logs as Nils, the tavern's caretaker and cook, threw wood of various sizes into the flames. The Imperial was grateful for the warmth to his left; he had spent the past several hours outside the city walls, sparring and training with seasoned warriors, just as he had been doing for the past few weeks. Besides the bruises, cuts, scrapes, and aching bones, the only thing the Imperial looked forward to was the rate his strength was increasing.

Stormcloaks cackled, crashed tankards together, and scarfed down piles of venison and potatoes beside him on the bench and across from his seat. Taking a sip of dragon's tongue tea, the teen had barely touched his own meal.

The Nord woman in the revealing dress sang "The Age of Oppression", much to the azure warriors' delight. Her voice was clear and powerful, though the Imperial preferred the Dark Elf woman's graceful performances in New Gnisis Cornerclub. The dark-haired teen could not help but wonder if such a preference was due to the performer herself, or due to the atmosphere.

Smoke from the fire wafted up into the pointed ceiling and dirt and dust drifted down from the rafters with each jump, step, and stomp of the mead-filled Nords. Their voices called out in mirth so loudly, the Imperial had no doubt in his mind they could be heard outside of the tavern. A thin film of grime seemed to cover nearly every surface, and the teen found himself wiping his palms against his trousers every time his hand brushed against any surface within the tavern, yet he still could not remove the grease and filth from his fingers. The sordid tavern was nothing like the reserved establishment in the Gray Quarter, with the exception of scattered bottles and food thrown onto the floor.

"Which boy?" a man chuckled. Despite the raucous display around him on the second floor, the Imperial was attentive to the conversation occurring below him. He recognized the owner of the male voice to be Brunwulf Free-Winter, a noble, Nordic veteran of the Great War.

"The Aretino boy!" Elda Early-Dawn whispered urgently.

"I would not call him a 'boy', Elda," another man warned before pausing briefly. Aventus identified the man as Captain Lonely-Gale, Captain of the Windhelm Guard. "He is a Stormcloak now, a man."

"And yet he is an Imperial by birth, not a Nord. I do not understand why he would throw himself in with _that_ lot. Stormcloaks are a bunch of narrow-minded bigots." the war veteran grumbled.

"You best watch your tone, Brunwulf. Skyrim belongs to the Nords. Last thing we need are Dark Elf lovers. They are nothing but a mob of disease-ridden, work-stealing, bellyachers." the tavern owner snapped at her lover. Aventus' hand closed firmly over his mug in fury. Nearly every night he had eaten dinner with his fellow Stormcloaks at Candlehearth Hall, and each time, Elda sneered insults at the absent Dark Elves. Still, it was a necessary abuse, one that would be over soon.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and Aventus came face to face with a pair of large breasts. "Is there anything I can do for you, handsome?"

Averting his eyes, the teen released his enraged grip on his mug and muttered, "No ma'am."

"Oi, pretty lady," Hraot White-Sword catcalled from across the table, obviously intoxicated by not only his mead. "You c'n do somethin' fir me!" The woman sauntered up to the man, and Aventus relaxed as he searched for the voices on the lower level.

"Can a man not enjoy a drink with his fellows? Let him be, my dear." the strange man Aventus recalled as Calixto laughed.

To the teen's surprise, Elda's lover did not interject to the other man's familiarity with the woman. "Ever since that - that... _Imperial_ came back here a second time, those," Elda's voice lowered and the teen strained to overhear the rest of her sentence. "murders... have increased."

"That is a load of horker shit." the old Nord grumbled.

"Ask the Captain of the Guard! He is sitting right beside you!" the woman softly screeched. Aventus paled. It seemed people were hearing word of his antics. He drank deeply from his mug, hoping to return the color to his face.

"Murders have increased as of late." the Captain agreed.

"Murders have been happening prior to Aretino's return." the veteran countered.

"Aye. That they have." Captain Lonely-Gale replied. The teen sighed in relief. Not all was lost.

"Those were women, not men!"

"Two women. Now two men. It seems our killer has a pattern." the Captain muttered.

"One of those men was Rolff Stone-Fist, Galmar's own brother." Brunwulf spoke up.

"These are hard times, indeed, when the General's brother can be cut down in the streets." Elda's tone was that of remorse.

"People are calling the killer the 'Butcher'." Calixto inserted nonchalantly.

"Do not listen to Viola," the Captain growled. "That woman spouts nothing but nonsense."

"Oh, having trouble with your woman, are you Captain?" Calixto chortled.

Something jostled into Aventus' shoulder. "Ready to go, Aretino?" Menldur Black-Hair stood from his seat beside the teen. Green eyes flashed to the other Stormcloaks as they too rose from their seats, save for Hraot who was far too preoccupied with Susanna's "entertainment" upon his fully clothed lap to realize his comrades were departing.

Torlfar the Knife must have noticed the teen's abhorred expression and smirked. "Jealous, Aretino?"

"I would rather endure every plane of Oblivion than allow that... _harlot_ near me once again." Aventus did not spare the strumpet another glance and followed his fellow Stormcloaks down the creaky, wooden stairs.

The brunette behind the counter stared at the teen as he made his descent, and the three men across from her turned in their seats to catch a glimpse of the object of her attention. Aventus feigned ignorance and was grateful for Menldur's question: thankfully, his cohorts had failed to notice the awkward stares in their direction. "Is there a woman in your life, Aretino?"

"'A woman in his life'? Menldur, the Stormcloak is barely a man!" Torlfar threw his head back and cackled.

"Perhaps a woman is why Susanna's... _advances_ fail to... _charm_ our young Aretino here." the tall, muscular Nord shrugged his shoulders.

The trio waited for the rest of their party and Aventus took the opportunity to respond. "There is one, but I would not call her 'mine' just yet."

"Is that so?" Torlfar raised his eyebrows, he did not seem entirely convinced.

Smiling, Menldur playfully elbowed the teen in the side. "Is she someone we know?"

Aventus shook his head. "No, I do not believe you have had the pleasure of meeting her yet. She is not from Windhelm, you see."

"And what do you take us for? Uncultured, untraveled waifs? We are Stormcloaks," Menldur exclaimed, extending his arms out like an eagle. "We have seen the beauty of Skyrim, from the shores of Dawnstar to the forests of Riften, from the College of Winterhold to the walls of Markarth, from -"

"From the Temple of Dibella to the Markarth city dungeons!" the slender Nord interjected, before the walls of the tavern echoed with his howls of laughter.

A look of horror crossed Menldur's face. "One instance! That was one instance!" As Torlfar continued his fit of snickering, five other Stormcloaks joined them at the lower steps.

"Will Hraot be joining us?" Aventus asked, only gazing at the tavern keeper through the very edges of his vision. As the words left his mouth, the bald Nord came stumbling down the stairs behind his companions, answering the teen's question. A stupid grin crossed the man's face.

Smirking, Torlfar asked, "Has Dibella smiled upon you?"

The drunken Nord rested his arms across Gwefna Dead-Shoal and Geselm's shoulders. He then began to sing. " _We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone._ " As the other Stormcloaks joined together in song, Aventus simply smiled and allowed a peek towards the tavern keeper and her patrons seated at the counter. He quickly ran his eyes over the four as he turned and followed Menldur and Torlfar out the doors.

Elda had narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the boy while the men were far too occupied with chuckling at the drunk's awkward dance. Aventus concluded his target would have to wait. While there was someone else who had murdered the two women prior to his return to Windhelm, he could not afford the risk of capture and the blame of five murders.

Chuckling slightly, Aventus simulated amusement as the group of Stormcloaks traipsed through the night-darkened streets of Windhelm. In all actuality, the details of his next slaying were racing through his mind. He knew he would have to act, the tavern keeper did not deserve to live any longer. Still, Elda rarely left her business, and it seemed the tavern was full almost every night. The act would most certainly prove to be a test of his skills.

"G'night, Aretino!" Hraot called out to the teen.

Aventus simply nodded as the others echoed their comrade's farewell. He stepped into the Palace of the Kings and strode to the throne, treading lightly upon the blue rug to quiet his footsteps. Candles hanging from horker tusk chandeliers illuminated the long feast tables, though the only candlelight upon the throne itself was from the candles beside the armrests. Moonlight filtered through the thin, rectangular windows, barely washing over the rug racing to the right and left of the throne.

The candlelight beside his arms cast an eerie glow across the seated man's face. There was a strange look in his eyes: Aventus identified it as hunger, though not for food or nourishment. Hand raised to his face, the man stared at a point in the rug, as if it would divulge the secrets of Nirn to him. "Aventus." the man said in greeting, his voice distant and his eyes had remained fixed on the rug.

"King Ulfric." Aventus bowed slightly in reverence, merely as a courtesy. A pause hung between the pair for several minutes, neither speaking, neither locking eyes with the other.

Suddenly, Ulfric spoke up. "I do not like to be kept waiting, Galmar."

"I apologize, my King," Galmar's deep, scraggly voice emitted from the war room. The broad-shouldered man marched before the throne after he nodded in greeting to the teen. "I informed the new recruit to return to Windhelm posthaste. Certainly there must be something occupying his time."

"Nothing is more important than this," Ulfric growled, squeezing his hand into a fist. "Are we certain he has not betrayed us to the Imperials?" the man's fiery glare burned a hole into Galmar's forehead.

"I expect him to arrive in Windhelm any -" A metal door swung inwards and the strange man in iron armor cam barreling down the hall and up to the throne. Galmar smiled, "And there he is." Ulfric straightened his shoulders and sat up in his throne; his mouth was drawn out in a thin line, but his eyes betrayed anticipation.

The teen looked over the man as he approached. Covered in dirt and stinking of potatoes, the man stared, unblinking, like a man possessed. His greasy, disheveled, brown hair curled slightly from lack of cleanliness. He sprinted up to the seated man on the throne and simply stared at him.

"Have you brought the crown?" Ulfric immediately asked.

Reaching into his pack, the man brandished a helm of bone and Nordic steel and presented it to the High King without a word.

The Jarl of Windhelm grinned widely and almost snatched the object from the other Nord's fingers. "Damn you Galmar, you were right! I thank you." The seated man turned the helm in his hands, wiping dust and dirt from its recesses. Once he seemed satisfied, he placed the so-called "crown" upon his head, adopting a fierce, yet strangely regal appearance.

Galmar muttered something beneath his breath Aventus could not quite make out, and the dark-haired teen began to wonder just what significance the strange helm bore. A symbol of office or authority, no doubt; though he began to think of scenarios as to why the helm would have dust and dirt crusted on it. His theories ranged between the helm being ancient and long-forgotten, to the carelessness of the other Stormcloak. In the case of the former, Aventus was not sure as to why such an ancient symbol would only now be found and claimed, and not taken by previous High Kings.

Settling back into his throne, Ulfric stared straight at the man, "Did you encounter any trouble?"

"THE IMPERIALS WERE THERE!" the man practically screamed, as if he was not sure his voice could be heard in the quiet hall. Aventus sighed inwardly, finally recognizing the man as the one who had been present during the dragon attack on Helgen.

"Damn it," Ulfric growled, "What were they doing there? Imperial spies are everywhere, never forget that." He paused a moment to stare at the other Nord and emphasize his point. "I trust you gave them a thrashing?"

"YES SIR!"

"Good. Now then, I am glad you are here. I have a message I need delivered to Whiterun."

"AND WHAT IS THAT?"

The Jarl motioned to Galmar and the big Nord disappeared into the war room. "Deliver my axe to Balgruuf the Greater." Galmar returned and handed a Nordic steel war axe to the other Nord.

"AN AXE?"

"Yes, an axe," Ulfric's brow furrowed in confusion and his tone carried a tone which seemed to question the Stormcloak's intelligence, "How long have you been in Skyrim? Give the man my axe. If he keeps it, I will bide my time. If he returns it to you, it means war."

Aventus' eyes widened at the mention of war. His mind raced, wondering if he would be present on the battlefield. He doubted it, he had only been Ulfric's squire for almost four weeks; and while he had been improving in his prowess with the blade, he was uncertain his skills would hold in open combat. He also began to fear facing his friends in battle. Any of his friends could be anywhere... even in Whiterun. He recalled Lucia had been forced to live on the streets of Whiterun after her aunt and uncle threw her out of her home once her mother died.

"SHOULD I SAY ANYTHING TO HIM?"

"Men who understand each other often have no need for words. There are but a few simple truths behind one warrior giving another his axe. Balgruuf will know my meaning. And if he is wise, he will keep it," the Jarl sat back in his throne and jutted his chin out. "Now go."

The strange man sprinted out of the hall without another word, the metal door crashed closed behind him.

"You seem alarmed, Aventus." Galmar's gruff voice surprised the teen, and he almost jumped at the sound.

"No, sir." the Imperial shook his head.

"What is on your mind?" Aventus turned at the voice and realized Ulfric had been staring at him.

The teen swallowed, careful to choose his next few words. "If Jarl Balgruuf refuses you, where will I be?"

Ulfric raised his chin. "At my side, on the battlefield." Aventus felt the blood drain from his face in fear. "But do not fear, Aventus. I am certain Balgruuf will make the proper choice."

Out of the corner of his eye, Aventus saw a glimmer of a grimace upon Galmar's face. It seemed the General was not as convinced as his King.

* * *

 _ **Sorry guys for it being late, did not have time this past weekend to write (Father's Day and all) and I barely have time to sleep with work and all.**_

 _ **I'll try to get the next chapter up by next Thursday!**_

 _ **Thanks guys for reading, don't forget to write a review or PM me for questions, comments, and/or concerns!**_


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:**

 _As a reminder, I am assuming all orphans not in Honorhall in Hearthfire have spent some time in their designated spots before being hauled off to the orphanage (Alesan in Dawnstar, Sofie in Windhelm, Blaise in Solitude, Lucia in Whiterun). Also, since I have aged up the orphans, I am also aging up the other children in Skyrim to be in their mid to late teens as well._

 _I also forgot to remind everyone that the PCs are not going to be how you normally would see them. They will be genuinely based off of real players. For reference, the Dragonborn will be more of a player new to the Elder Scrolls series (running around, destroying crap, talking to everyone, wondering what the heck is going on all the time), Jasia will be more of the immersive, Oblivion lover (as to why she "skips", jumping actually, to improve her non-existent Acrobatics skill), and we'll see more of the others in time._

 _I just realized I made a huge mistake concerning the Dragonborn. I realized I called him Dragonborn before the quest_ Dragon Rising _was completed._ _Fixed it in Chapter Twelve._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

The hooded girl trudged over the shabby, wooden bridge. Fine, yet sturdy, leather boots stepped through the soft, rain-sodden ground. The girl gave thanks to the Divines it had been merely rain and not snow which had fallen throughout most of the early twilight and into the dawn; only now did it subside and begin to sprinkle. Her hands hung beneath her cloak, instead of gripping the straps of her heavy rucksack.

She had grown much stronger over the course of several weeks, she realized. Without anyone to aid her in carrying her kills, the girl had been forced to pack as much hide, meat, and bone she could carry. At first, she was barely able to bear half of a young deer; but now, she held a hundred pounds of an adult buck on her back.

Waving in greeting to the gate guards, the men in yellow sashes simply nodded and opened the wooden gates before her. She stepped through and noticed the precipitation no longer tapped the top of her head. Holding out a hand palm upward, she tested whether or not her observation was true. Satisfied, she threw her hood back, revealing long, golden blonde waves of hair.

"Lucia!" a young woman's voice called out. The girl turned and saw Adrianne's apprentice, Halldis, working the bellows at Warmaiden's. The Nord waved at the girl as she pulled down the handle on the chain, blowing air onto the hot coals.

The girl smiled and returned the wave. "Greetings, Halldis!" Lucia strode towards her dark-haired friend.

Pulling a molten hot blade from the pit, Halldis hammered her latest project upon the anvil. "Did you have a good hunt?"

"Yes, as always. I caught a buck today."

"And a few rabbits, I see." the Nord smiled, glancing at the girl's pack, before flipping the blade and hammering its opposite side.

Lucia glanced up at the Drunken Huntsman establishment. "I should probably bring this to Elrindir, he will want to see what I have for him."

"Be sure to save the hide for me! Divines know we need it."

The girl stopped in her tracks, surprised. "Is Idolaf _still_ ordering swords for the Legion?" She recalled the conversation she overheard between the Nord warrior and the blacksmith upon her return to Whiterun. It had been nearly six weeks since she had arrived, and it seemed Adrianne and Halldis were not enough to complete the request.

Halldis nodded. "Adrianne is working me night and day to fill in the order, and he presses for more every week."

Lucia shook her head at the impossible demand. "I will see what I can do."

"Thank you, Lucia."

"Are we still to meet at the Bannered Mare tonight?"

Sighing, the woman nodded in affirmation. "Yes."

Lucia left the conversation at that. She knew why Halldis was upset, and it was not Lucia's fault, she did not take her reaction personally. The intense work schedule Adrianne had put upon the young Nord inhibited her normal activities, and Halldis was unable to travel to Riften to visit her beau, Naglfar. Instead, Halldis was more than happy to distract herself by spending time talking and laughing with her newfound friend, Lucia. The girl stepped up the slight hill and swung the wooden doors inward.

"Ah, hello my -" the Bosmer man cut himself short, "oh, Lucia, good to see you!" Nevertheless, a smile crossed his face as she entered his business. The shop was empty save for the Dark Elf, Jenassa, who simply sat in the corner and drank deeply from her tankard. The fire pit situated in the center proved to be the main source of light in the room. Candles sat in bowls on top of tables and the main counter. Sunlight barely shone through the thin, dirty windows and behind her from the doorway.

The blonde shut the doors behind her and began to unload her pack onto the counter. "Good morning, Elrindir." she beamed.

Unwrapping the cuts of meat from the parchment, the red-haired Elf examined each piece for trimmed fat and clean slices. He worked in silence, a habit he had fallen into since his brother, Anoriath, had died... at least, that is what she had heard.

The story Lucia had been told was the Bosmer had been out hunting and had taken a wrong step, slipping into the White River. It had been two years since the incident, and Elrindir had not recovered from the event. Some said he was not convinced by the story the guards had relayed to him, and would still glare at travelers passing through Whiterun.

"These are good cuts." he suddenly said.

"Thank you," Lucia nodded, placing the pelts beside the Elf. "Adrianne and Halldis are still working to fill in the order for Idolaf. Halldis asked if it would be possible to reserve some hide for them."

Elrindir continued to examine the venison. A few moments passed before he spoke again. "I do not see why not. Adrianne has always aided us, and we have always aided them."

Nodding, the girl smiled inwardly at her success.

"Could you run the stall today?"

It was a question Lucia was waiting for, one he asked every day, and one she always answered the same. "Of course!"

"Thank you, Lucia. Take these cuts out to sell," Elrindir sprinkled salt upon the meat to preserve it for the day. "And send this hide out to Adrianne." He stooped beneath the counter and popped back up, placing almost twenty more furs and pelts onto Lucia's stack.

Lucia wrapped up the venison and placed them in her pack. She lifted the stack of hide off the counter and headed out the door. "I will return at twilight." Kicking the door closed, she hurried down the slope and dropped the pile of furs onto the blacksmith's workbench, almost tripping and falling at the last moment.

"And what is this!?" an Imperial woman exclaimed as she exited Warmaiden's.

The girl simply smiled at the stunned woman and departed, managing to catch a glimpse of Halldis peering out behind the corner of the shop. Lucia continued to the market, passing the empty house along the way. She saw Carlotta and her daughter Mila setting up their stall, while Fralia Gray-Mane made her descent from the Wind District. The three women smiled at the youngest and called out greetings. Others walked past, smiling simply as they traveled to their own small shops: some lining the path through the Plains District, others on the road leading to the city gates from the stables.

Waving and smiling, the girl approached her stall. A man stormed down the stairs, almost knocking the elderly Gray-Mane woman off of her feet. Ysolda quickly dashed up to the woman and steadied her as the man in iron armor reached the bottom. Face paling, the girl quickly ducked behind the counter. Heavy, clanking footsteps faded into the distance and Lucia sighed in relief.

She had recognized the man as the one who had been present at Helgen, the same man who had found her stumbling through the woods after the dragon attack. Lucia had thought she had been saved when the stranger suggested he lead her to Whiterun. As they entered Riverwood, the man introduced himself as Sorens.

The next week had been filled with traveling and exploring every cave and Nordic ruin around the town. When she finally arrived in Whiterun, she vowed she would never follow the man ever again. However, she did have him to thank for her current role at the Drunken Huntsman. Perhaps he was not as horrible or careless as she thought. Nevertheless, the idea of wiping spiderwebs from her face and facing ancient, living corpses was not something she wanted to experience ever again. Continuing her work, Lucia placed whole rabbits and venison upon the counter and unlocked the sliding door hiding the lock box at her knees.

"Good morning, Lucia." Mila walked up to the stall beside her mother's.

Lucia smiled at her friend and swung her pack into the compartment. "Good morning, Mila."

Leaning over the counter and glancing once to her mother, the girl lowered her tone. "I heard Mikael is -"

"Mila!" Carlotta snapped.

The young woman cursed under her breath before saying, "Yes, mother?"

"Were you not the one who said working at the stall is not just about standing around and chatting?"

"Mother," Mila complained, "It is not yet time to open! Can I not speak to my friend?"

Carlotta smiled and shook her head at her daughter.

Turning back to her friend, the young Imperial continued. "Anyways, Mikael, I have heard he has been eyeing you at the Bannered Mare."

"What!?" Lucia almost screeched in horror. Mikael must have been nearly ten years her elder, and up until a few weeks ago he had been pursuing Mila's own mother.

The brunette snickered and nodded. " _And_ I have seen it myself!"

"I think I might be ill." Lucia tasted salt in her mouth and saliva began to flood her jaws. She suddenly realized the smiles, compliments, and songs had not come without a price. The girl tried not to think of the countless women he had charmed and how such a cad had now set his sight on her. It did not help that she recalled his motto of, "Once Mikael gets them, they are got.", a prospect she was not looking forward to, but rather feared how he would ensure his triumph over her: through charm or by force.

"Well do not get it on the meat," Mila laughed, vaulting over the counter, careful not to knock over any of the merchandise. She moved beside her friend and placed a hand on her shoulder, leaning her forward. "Lean down, lean down." She squeezed her shoulder and chuckled slightly. "I am sorry, that was in poor taste."

"Poor taste?" Lucia questioned, gripping her knees and indicating to what was about to occur.

The other girl laughed again. "Improper use of words, my friend."

A deep, rumbling tore through the air, freezing Lucia's blood as the first breath of winter. Wind buffeted down onto them and a great shadow passed overhead. The sound was emitted again, and Lucia knew what had come to Whiterun.

"What is that?" Mila asked, looking up at the sky. Lucia raised her head up just in time to see a look of bewilderment cross her friend's face.

"Dragon." the blonde-haired girl breathed.

The terrible, grating roar split the sky once again. She heard the beast suck in a mighty breath.

"Get down!" Lucia screamed, pulling her friend down into the dirt. A great heat washed over them and Lucia shut her eyes, waiting for the fire to kiss her.

It never did.

All sound seemed to fade away. The heat subsided. Mila wept beside her. Lucia became aware of another. He stood to her right, garbed in silver-trimmed black robes. His long, triangular hood, lined with brown fur, came to a point between his knees. A golden hand was raised and a wide circle of white light, like a shield, twisted and turned from his fingertips, changing the course of the attack.

The dragon's fire smashed into Severio Pelagia's house, blasting it to nothing. Circling around, the beast roared once again.

"Git t' Dragonsreach!" the Altmer mage ordered, lowering his shield and pointing to the castle on the hill.

"MILA!" Carlotta screamed, extending a hand towards her daughter.

The mage extended an arm in front of the woman and yelled, "We wull git 'er out ah 'ere, _you_ must go. _Now._ "

"Not without Mila!"

Lucia yanked on Mila's arm and pulled on her pack. "Make haste!" The pair of girls stumbled on their feet and scrambled up the stairs, Carlotta coming to Mila's other side. A flash of gleaming red came before them.

"WHAT _THE FUCK_ IS GOING ON," A broad-shouldered Argonian bellowed. Lucia recognized the voice and the barren red scaled chest: Gah-Thux. "DRAGONS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO ATTACK WHITERUN!"

The girl paused to look at the mage. Ysolda and tens of others swarmed around them, bumping and jostling into the trio of women. The beast screamed once again and rained fire onto the now empty market.

Raising his hand again, the mage diverted the flames to the empty house across from the Drunken Huntsman. "'e got ah mod!" Exploding into thousands upon thousands of splinters, the empty house was destroyed.

"MY HOUSE!" Lucia immediately identified the owner of the voice: Sorens.

"IT WASN'T 'YOUR' HOUSE! YOU HAVE TO BE THANE FIRST!" Gah-Thux growled, pounding down the stairs.

"I WAS GOING TO BE THANE AFTER THIS QUEST!"

As the Argonian began to strangle the Nord, Mila wrenched Lucia's arm upwards. "Come on!" Tears streamed down her face and her eyes were filled with terror.

"Up tha stairs, up tha stairs," The Altmer ushered the women closer to Dragonsreach. "Gah-Thux, Sorens! Stop fuckin' each other an' git up 'ere!"

Flames fell from the sky and the residents of Whiterun cried out in panic, the torrent aiming straight towards Heimskr's abode. The Altmer suddenly appeared before the fire and redirected the attack straight into the Gildergreen. The tree burned straight to ash and the remainder of the projectile hit the Temple of Kynareth, igniting the temple.

The Altmer threw his palms up and dismissed the damage. "Sorry." Lucia did not miss the satisfied smirk on his face.

Following the crowd, the women raced up the final steps from the Wind District and into the Cloud District, up to Dragonsreach. The dragon opened its maw and unleashed waves of the inferno onto the city. The bare-chested Argonian, iron-clad Nord, and Altmer mage all yelled at each other, yet somehow managed to slash at the beast with blade and axe and ice.

"Archers!" a man called out. A sea of guards armed with longbows poured out of the castle gates, steering the residents of Whiterun into the keep and notching arrows to their drawstrings.

The hand closed over Lucia's wrist jerked her towards the gates. "Lucia!" Mila pulled her towards the open doors, towards safety.

Lucia turned back to the dragon surging its blaze over houses and shops. Her hand closed over her own weapon. "Go." she jutted her chin out to her friend. The younger girl tore herself from the fear-struck Imperial screaming her name and followed the guards down the stairs.

"Halt," one man grasped Lucia's shoulder and shook his head. "This is no place for a girl!"

"I can get him!" she protested.

A female guard snarled at her comrade. "We need all the help we can get, you horker-head! Let her go!"

The man sighed in defeat and released his hold. Lucia grabbed hold of the dragon carved onto the pillar of the archway before the bridge to the castle and hauled herself up. She heard Captain Caius order his men to aim at the beast attacking their city. Lucia focused on climbing. She reached the brazier and turned back towards the Wind District.

Another burst of fire erupted from between its jaws and flooded onto the area where the Gildergreen once stood. It extended its four legs out and landed, crouched, upon the circle. Lucia pulled back an arrow and aimed at the white dragon. She released, and when it failed to do any noticeable damage, readied another.

The blonde glimpsed Sorens jump onto the dragon's head while Gah-Thux stabbed and tore at its wings. The Altmer attempted to freeze the beast's joints, spraying white-blue ice onto its knees and wings. Thrashing its head back and forth and tearing at the Nord garbed in iron armor, the dragon attempted to dislodge the man.

Firing another arrow, the girl smiled when the white monster roared in pain and leapt back into the skies. Sorens dangled from its jaw, his axe stuck between its fangs. The man hooted and twisted himself upwards. By some miracle, the Nord landed squarely on the dragon's neck, just behind its head. He cheered in victory, raising his fists into the air.

Lucia took aim, following the dragon's movements in the air. Suddenly, it snapped open its wings and took flight towards Dragonsreach. The girl spied the dragon's great, silver eye. Sorens placed both hands on either side of his face and screamed as he saw the girl he was heading straight towards. The blonde shot her arrow and the white beast released an ear-bursting screech.

It spiraled away from the castle and headed West, attempting to level itself out but failing miserably.

Sorens whooped and his fading voice announced, "YOU WILL DIE TODAY, DRAGON!"

It veered left and right and left again before swooping over the plains of Whiterun and into a tall, stone tower a few miles away from the city. The stones tumbled and fell across the plains; the dragon crashed through the tower, smearing itself into the ground.

Guards cheered and whooped in triumph. The Altmer mage spouted water from his hands and ran from building to building, quenching fires as quickly as he could. Once every fire had been extinguished, he proceeded to wave his hands and reconstruct each establishment... except for the Temple of Kynareth and the Gildergreen. Men and women trickled out of the castle, and several gasps and cries of anguish rang out as they saw the devastation before them.

"Lucia? Lucia!" Mila's voice called out, barely audible over the other voices.

"Up here," the girl called down, waving to her friend. "I am fine!"

The young woman locked eyes with her friend before drifting through the crowd and making her way back to the Plains District.

Lucia simply sat on the flat archway and gazed over the city. She ran her eyes from the Bannered Mare to the city gates all the way to the White River in the East. Resting her head on the pillar beside her, she allowed her thoughts to roam to more pleasant thoughts... back to home. Back to where she would see her family once again. The girl glanced back to where the dragon crashed into the ground. It laid still and unmoving, dead.

The blonde narrowed her eyes, unsure of what she was seeing. Flesh and blood seemed to flow off of the corpse and rushed towards a figure. The stream surrounded the figure and as quickly as it appeared, suddenly dissipated.

Three words shattered the air and rumbled the earth. Three words came crashing from almost everywhere at once. Three words nearly threw Lucia from the archway. "DOH VAH KIIN!"

As the echoes of the words faded away, a cry rose from across the city. "It is the Greybeards! They call for the Dragonborn! The Dragonborn comes!"

* * *

 _ **In order to avoid spoiling the chapter, I have decided to put lore discrepancies and everything in this later author's note and not before. I will still put reminders or apologies, if they are applicable in the first note, however.**_

 _ **I used the concept art for the Arch-Mage's robes as a reference.**_

 _ **If you want to see Halldis and a bunch of other cool NPCs hanging around Skyrim, I suggest getting the mod**_ **Inconsequential NPCs _by Ripple on the Nexus. It's super cool!_**

 ** _Anoriath is in fact a target for the Dark Brotherhood questline... a fact I, myself, had forgotten._**

 ** _It doesn't make sense for Mirmulnir to return to the guard tower. If_ I _were him, I would have lit the tower on fire and flew over to Whiterun or bypassed the tower completely and gone straight to the city._**

 ** _I_ think _Open Cities allows for dragon assaults on cities. That can also be found on the Nexus by Arthmoor._**

 ** _Thanks guys for reading! As always, feel free to PM me or write a review if you have questions, comments or concerns!_**

 ** _You guys are amazing!_**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:**

 _Enhanced Towns and Cities does an excellent job of expanding, well, the towns and cities of Skyrim and is definitely worth a look._

 _I've decided to alter dialogue slightly. Lowborn individuals will speak with contractions, while highborn, or at least those wishing to sound proper, do not._

 _There will be profanity!_

 _Sorry guys for it being late, the Renaissance Fair and the Fourth of July ate up my weekend... and the Sims 3..._

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

"Imperial dogs, once Ulfric frees us, I'll have your heads!"

For the past several hours, Samuel had tried his best to ignore the frenzied threats of the deposed Jarl. The Nord would spew strings upon strings of insults and venom at the teen before suddenly falling silent and eventually begin to mutter to himself, only to continue his verbal abuse once again. The maddening cycle was beginning to irk the Imperial.

Nevertheless, he stood at his post: standing straight and tall with hands hanging at his sides before the barred, iron door. His back was to one of the thick logs supporting the first floor of the guard barracks.

Crates, barrels, and sacks were scattered across the basement and just behind the wooden wall in front of him would be the food storage. Samuel reveled at the vast difference between the Dawnstar barracks and the accommodations at Castle Dour. He justified the lack of space to separate barracks from prison from pantry was due to poor planning.

Dawnstar had been fairly easy to conquer: the Imperial ships had landed just west of the town, obscured from view by the western mountain. Before the Jarl and his men knew what was happening, the several thousand men had encircled the town and smothered any resistance. Thankfully, Samuel's squad had been to the rear of the attack and had not witnessed nor participated in any fighting.

Brina Merilis, a retired Legion Legate, had taken Skald the Elder's place as Jarl and the citizens of Dawnstar continued about their everyday lives. The Imperials had made camp on the very same shores they had landed upon and waited for General Tullius' next command.

Unfortunately, while some Legionaries had the grace of patrolling The Pale, scouting ahead, or even training, Samuel had the honor of guarding the only supporter of Ulfric Stormcloak in Dawnstar: the Jarl himself.

The Nord was about to begin the cycle once again, when steel boots clinked down the steps. Samuel's heart sank: the previous time he had been granted to speak with another person aside from Skald, the teen had been ordered to endure three additional hours of the older man's fire and spittle.

The armored Legionary shifted his gaze from the fuming prisoner to the hard expression on his warden's face. Smirking, Godrel asked, "This cunt get on your nerves, Wild?"

Samuel did not need to say anything, the captive's response was sufficient. "'Cunt'!? Who are you calling a 'cunt', you Imperial boot-lick!? You should be ashamed to call yourself a Nord!"

Waving his hand dismissively at the older man, Godrel continued to speak with Samuel. "I am here to relieve you." Samuel smiled gratefully. "You can find the others at Windpeak Inn. Careful though, that place is _packed_."

"Fuck the Imperials!"

The teen began to imagine what sort of insults would be traded between the hard-headed Nords, and he attempted to hide his growing grin. "Many thanks, Godrel. I trust you will find a way to entertain yourself?"

Godrel peered into the cell. "Oh I imagine me and ol' Skaldy here will have a grand old time, won't we?"

"Oblivion take you and your house!"

"You and Ulfric and all the other Stormcloak lovers can get fucked up the arse by Molag Bal!"

The rumbling in Samuel's stomach forced him to depart as his comrade taunted the elder. He climbed the steps and opened the door to the harsh elements of the dusk outside. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, Samuel hurried into the tavern next door. The Windpeak Innn was as Godrel had described it... yet "packed" was an understatement.

A cacophonous thunder filled his ears and Legion red filled his vision. Heat flowed from, not the roaring fire, but the forms of the patrons and flooded Samuel's limbs to the point he felt his nose was about to bleed from his body overheating. He stood up on his tiptoes, peering around standing and over sitting Legionaries. For a moment, he thought he spied Selene's blonde hair, but when the woman rose, he realized she was Karita: the innkeeper's daughter as well as the establishment's bard and barmaid.

Deciding his efforts would be best spent actively searching through the inn, Samuel waded through the sea of bodies, muttering an "excuse me" whenever he accidentally bumped into another. He was roughly pulled backwards by the hem of his leather lappets and found himself teetering on the edge of a stool.

"Sit down, Sammy!" Fadril Valaai chuckled.

Samuel turned and realized he had luckily been pulled into an empty seat at his squad's table... well, _most_ of his squad. Fadril, Cirwen, Anarath, and Vivienne each had crammed themselves around a small wooden table.

Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, Samuel inquired, "Where is everyone else?"

"Decanus Cyrus ordered Okan-Ru, Haming, and Godrel to follow him a few minutes ago," Cirwen elaborated, "Yet I have not seen Elanil nor Selene since this morning."

The teen opened his mouth to say something when another voice suddenly stopped him: a woman's.

"You beasts are the most _vile, disgusting_ creatures in all of Skyrim!" she screeched. Samuel turned to see the innkeeper's daughter slapping hands groping at her bosom and backside. If she had not been a table away, the teen had no doubt in his mind her voice would have been lost amongst the chaos.

"Come now, dearie," a one-eyed Nord in a ridiculous looking fur cap cooed, "surely we aren't all _that_ bad."

The woman with dirty blonde hair seemed flustered, and her face continued to grow a darker shade of red. "Just..." she smacked the man's hand away from her backside. "leave me alone! I've brought your mead, now drink it and shut your filthy mouths!"

A Nord with a warrior stripe and long mustache replied. "Oh, we've got _other_ things in mind for our mouths, sweetie."

Samuel balled up his fists in a fit of rage. He felt his throat begin to close up in fury. Men such as the pair beside him were scum and had no right to treat anyone in such a dishonorable manner.

Vivienne must have noticed the change in his demeanor, as she then warned, "Do not try it, Samuel."

But it was too late, the teen was already standing. Before he knew what exactly he was going to say, he placed himself between the two Nords and the woman.

The man in the fur cap glared at Samuel. "What do you want, _boy_? Can't you see we're a little _busy_ here?"

"I do believe this woman asked you to stop." the words came flying out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Laughing, the second man jabbed a thumb at the teen. "You hear that, Captain? Sounds like this _boy_ thinks he can give us orders." He turned to sneer at Samuel. "Why don't you get back to your fellow Imperial cunts and go look up _their_ skirts, hmm?"

"What did you say?" a broad-shouldered Imperial questioned, turning his attention to the Nord. The other members of his squad around his table diverted their attention as well, their conversation long forgotten. The Imperial stood, towering over the seated ruffian.

"I said," the Nord stood and pressed his face into the Imperial's. "you and your fellow Imperial _cunts_ can go suck my -"

The man never finished his sentence. A great and mighty roar resounded off the walls and punches impacted the Nord's face as Legionaries tackled him to the ground. The man in the fur cap attempted to stand, but he too was taken down. Samuel shielded the woman as best he could, leading her away from the fray as even more Legionaries joined the brawl, despite them not knowing the reason for the scuffle in the first place.

"Are you alright, miss?" Samuel asked.

She nodded. "I-I think so."

Another woman cleared her throat beside Samuel. Turning, he saw Selene, who simply said, "The Decanus would like to see all of us." She gestured for the other members of their squad to join them.

Samuel nodded and began to follow the Breton outside of the inn. Before he left her company, the innkeeper's daughter called, "I thank you!"

The teen smiled and nodded, exiting the inn with his fellow squad members. Following Selene's lead, they soon began to chuckle at the scene which had just taken place.

"I cannot believe you began a fight with those ruffians." Fadril shook his head.

"They were harassing that woman! I was not about to let them get away with it!" Samuel defended himself.

The Redguard came into view at the end of the road leading into Dawnstar and all laughter ceased. Elanil stood at his side, yet there was no sign of Godrel, Haming, nor Okan-Ru. Once most of the squad assembled, Cyrus began. "I have a job for all of you."

"More guard duty?" Anarath muttered under his breath.

Glaring at his subordinate, Cyrus explained, "No, not 'guard duty'. You all will be patrolling the area around Dawnstar. General Tullius wants to see what his newest Legionaries can do outside of battle. Your objective is to capture anyone, who is not a member of the Legion, and bring them to me. We cannot risk the Stormcloaks knowing we hold Dawnstar. Now is the time to show your skills, and if you show promise, you may be up for certification as a Ranger or Battlemage."

"What of the others? Will they be given this opportunity as well?" Vivienne inquired.

Cyrus stared at the woman. "Everyone will be given ample opportunities to succeed and showcase their abilities, all of you have the grace of doing so first. Now, Fadril and Anarath, you two patrol the northeast. Selene and Samuel, go ahead and patrol the south, to the east of the main road. Remember to stay in view of the city. Do not wander off. If a blizzard hits and you cannot find your way back, the chances of us finding you are slim. Vivienne, continue your training with Elanil, we will need your skills once we participate in a true battle. Get to your stations and be vigilant. While there are other patrols out there, it does not mean you can slack off. This is to separate the foot soldiers from everyone else. Dismissed."

After saluting their commanding officer, Samuel and Selene ventured down the road leading outside of the city. Once they could barely see the thatched roofs, they traveled to the east, keeping the city to their left.

Some time had passed before Selene spoke to her comrade. "The woman seemed very grateful for your assistance."

"I could not stand by as those men tormented her."

Selene hummed slightly, though her face was contorted into an expression of... was it distaste? Perhaps she was irritated at the fact men would heckle a woman in public. Yet he recalled Anarath had acted in a similar fashion with Selene during their spars in training. Samuel was not sure of the reason behind her expression. Instead, he focused on his surroundings: gazing at the snow for tracks.

Rabbit tracks and fox paw prints littered the ground, but there were no footprints. He gazed to his right, south, and peered over the landscape, searching for any sign of a person. Further down to the southwest patrolled several Legionaries, traveling to the west. Another patrol to the southeast patrolled east. There did not seem to be anyone travelling besides the Legionaries, and Samuel wondered if the threat of the Stormcloaks Cyrus had mentioned was even true.

He was about to turn his attention back to the east, when a glint of steel caught his eye. It was brief and fleeting, but he knew he saw it. Samuel stopped and peered back to the south.

"What is it?" Selene asked.

Samuel did not reply. He stared in the direction he had spotted the glint and waited.

Several moments passed and Selene touched his arm. "Sam?"

The steel appeared again and Samuel stared at the figure. The newcomer wore a brown hood, an axe handle poked out over his right shoulder while a longbow appeared over his left, fine steel boots tore through the snow quickly as the figure almost ran north. Samuel glimpsed the Imperial dragon forged into the shin guards of the boots. But the azure sash wrapped around the figure was unmistakable: he was a Stormcloak.

Samuel jammed on his helmet, wanting to shield his face and head from any blows if the man decided to struggle. "Stormcloak." he hissed to Selene.

The Breton's eyes widened. "Has he seen us?"

"I do not believe he would be sprinting this way if he did." Samuel waved his companion to a rock outcropping as he covered their tracks in the snow. They crouched in waiting.

"What do we do?" Selene breathed.

"He is sprinting straight for Dawnstar. He will pass right in front of us and we will tackle him and apprehend him."

"Why can we not confront him directly?"

Samuel shook his head. "He is armed with a longbow, he may injure one of us before we get the chance to speak." It was then the teen remembered the Breton was a mage. "Do you have any way of knowing where he is in this moment?"

A flash of pink filled his vision and the woman stared at the rock. "He is approaching. Almost upon us."

The teen nodded and readied himself, adjusting the shield strap on his arm. He hoped he would have enough strength to bring the man to the ground, if not, he could simply bash the man's face with his shield. If anything, a blow to the face would at least stun the man, if not knock him out entirely.

As sure as daylight, metallic clanging and steady breathing sounded quietly and grew in volume. Samuel waited. He could hear arrows clinking together in a quiver. Samuel waited. He heard a coin purse jangling its contents. Samuel waited. He smelled sweat and dirt and blood. Samuel waited.

The Stormcloak sprayed snow into the air and Samuel charged forward, crashing straight into the man. Crying out in surprise, the man fell into the snow, face first. An elbow shot up and hit Samuel square in the face and he was glad he had the foresight to don his helmet.

Still, the blow sent the teen reeling backward and off of the man. The Stormcloak jumped to his feet and brandished his axe. Samuel unsheathed his own sword at his hip, he would need to defend himself and he hoped Cyrus' training would prove its worth in this instance.

With a start, Samuel realized the man was no taller than him. The man leapt forward and slashed with his weapon. Samuel blocked the blow and parried, sending the axe flying from the man's hand. For a moment he reveled in his growing skill.

Samuel was brought to the ground as the man rushed through the teen's defenses and tackled him. The man began to punch Samuel's helmed face with his steel hands. Metal began to press against Samuel's face and cut into his cheeks, sending hot blood streaming down his face. The teen tried to block the blows, but found he could not get his shield up, it had been caught under the man's knee. He resisted the urge to slash at the man: his orders were to capture, not kill.

A wave of ice sprayed into the man's chest and face and he fell backwards from the sudden impact. Samuel took the opportunity and jumped onto the man, sticking the tip of his blade to the man's neck. "Surrender." Samuel growled.

"I yield!" a boy's voice cried from the man's mouth, his hands were raised in surrender. His dark, lower face was the only thing revealed from under his hood, yet Samuel saw the tears wet on his face: he was afraid.

Samuel's blood froze. He recognized the voice. His eyes darted something he had not seen from the distance: a patch of leather crudely sewn onto the Stormcloak's shoulder. The teen paled when he saw the insignia emblazoned on the square: two blades crossed each other at a downward angle, the inverted sigil of Riften. No bandit, no scavenger, no other person would take the time to cut out a piece of armor and attach it to their new set. No one.

Hands shaking, Samuel sheathed his blade and pulled up the man's hood.

It was Alesan.

* * *

 ** _As evidenced in vanilla Skyrim, a couple people in Dawnstar don't like the Legion... most notably Skald the Elder._**

 ** _There seems to be a discrepancy with Karita's dialogue. She states she studied at the Bards College in Solitude, yet she also states that her mother studied from the college as if she herself did not attend. In addition, she says, "I hear they accept most people who apply, if you're ever interested." This suggests she is not sure about whom they would accept, despite the fact that she should know, due to the fact she attended. Because of this, I am assuming the dialogue was simply overlooked and Karita has never actually attended the Bards College, but was only taught what she knew by her mother._**


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note** :

 _I'm super sorry guys, I'm not dead, these past few weeks have been crazy (been sick, work, sister's birthday, Pokemon Go, brother's birthday)._

 _But here it is!_

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

"Sir, with these killings on the rise, I do not think it would be wise to proceed with this course of action." Candle flames flickered from the chandeliers hanging overhead, torch sconces lining the walls, and silver candlesticks sitting upon the long, wooden tables extending up and down the azure hall. The Captain of the Guard stood solemnly to the side of the barely illuminated stone throne. He gazed up at his king, worry reflecting in his eyes.

With a growl, the broad-shouldered Nord opposite the Captain dismissed his comrade's suggestion. "If we do not act now, Balgruuf will delay until the end times! Too long has he slunk away from Ulfric's messengers and catered to those Imperial dogs. No more!"

Several bellows of agreement sounded through the hall and the Stormcloak commanders nodded, smashing their fists onto the table to emphasize their stance. The Jarl's squire stood aloof, standing against the south wall of the dark corridor leading to the western side of the palace. Arms folded across his chest, the teen remained silent in the boisterous room.

A hand raised and the men and women cut themselves short. The man seated on the throne slowly dropped his armored hand back down to the armrest. In the early hours, the Nord, with the help of his squire, had donned his heavy armor: ancient Skyforge steel and chainmail rested upon him, a snarling bear protruded from each of his shoulders, an engraving of a bear had been inscribed on his right breast circle while an image of the Palace of the Kings was inscribed on his left, and the blue sash had clearly seen better days, yet the man insisted on wearing his old garment in favor of a newly tailored sash.

Ice blue eyes glowered through the darkness, burning with rage. "Balgruuf has delayed for far too long. I have no doubt he is a true Son of Skyrim. However, a son may forget his legacy. We will march and show all of Skyrim our strength and we will liberate her from the clutches of those Imperial bastards. The Sons will come to our aid and the rest will bend the knee!"

Howls of fervor echoed through the hall and every commander jumped to their feet and cheered... save for the Captain of the Windhelm Guard. Captain Lonely-Gale slumped his shoulders in defeat.

"Rally the men," Ulfric ordered, "I want all of Skyrim to know that her Sons are marching. We will reconvene once word has been sent out." As the commanders filed out of the hall, the Jarl beckoned his squire approach.

Aventus strode up to the throne obediently and forced himself to not gaze at the Captain, fearing he would see straight through the teen and arrest him on the spot. "My lord?" the dark-haired boy asked, still refusing to acknowledge the Jarl as King.

"Ready my horse, Aventus." was all the Nord said before turning back to Galmar.

Nodding politely, the teen turned on his heel and departed from the hall. He stepped out into the dark of the morning, the sun had yet to break over the horizon and warm the city with soft rays. Aventus adjusted the hem of his wolf-skin cloak and trudged through the cold.

Stormcloak commanders barked orders to their messengers and subordinates standing just beyond the gates of the Palace of the Kings, sending them scurrying off in the direction of the city gates. The war-hardened men and women then returned into the warmth of the palace.

The teen continued through the city, after the messengers plowing through the foot of snow which had accumulated in the night. He resisted the urge to exhale into his hands, knowing the action would only release moisture onto his fingers and the cold air would most likely freeze upon his digits. For once, Aventus wished he was at least part Nord, the chill would not bother him then.

Ever since he was a boy, Aventus could recall the 11th of Frostfall as one of the coldest days he ever experienced. Not just because the day usually marked one of the first snowfalls of the year. Not just because it was the day his father had drowned in the White River. Not just because it was the day his mother passed away from sickness. Not just because it had always been the worst day of his life. It was the day of his birth.

All he had ever known was the harsh, bitter cold of Skyrim. But not even its freezing breath could extinguish the fire within his form. His homeland had taken much more than it had given him: his family, his home, his innocence, and his chance at a new life. Each struggle challenged him and while he had been content before to allow Skyrim to take everything from him, now he was intent on taking things back.

Starting with the scum of society, the ones who preyed on those too feeble and meek to defend themselves.

And yet he still could not do that right.

His eyes glanced towards Candlehearth Hall as he passed the tavern. He had failed to isolate the innkeeper, despite his frequent visits and enduring the unwanted advances of the large-breasted strumpet. His efforts had proved fruitless; and now, it seemed he would never get his chance to rid the city of yet another vile creature.

Aventus sighed, his thoughts beginning to wonder where their next destination could be. They were headed to Whiterun, no doubt, yet Ulfric seemed intent on ensuring everyone in Skyrim knew of their campaign. The teen concluded such an action was absurd and foolish. He doubted the rebellion would last long with Ulfric at the head of the decisions.

A dark-haired woman pushed a two-wheeled cart laden with an anvil, a pair of tongs, a blacksmith hammer, and several clunky, leather bags. Aventus kept his head down and continued walking past the tavern and towards the city gates. With a sudden burst of energy, the woman charged forward with her cart and would have knocked the Imperial to the ground if he had not jumped back. The teen glared at the woman and was about to bite back a retort, when he recognized the woman's face.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Hermir beamed, resting the cart upon its feet and placing her hands crossed over the handlebars. Even in the cold, sweat dotted her brow and she panted from the exertion. Still, her expression was nothing short of joy.

Aventus simply nodded.

"I'll bet you're wonderin' why I'm not at the forge..." her smile extended all the way to her eyes and she seemed wide awake, despite the hour.

The teen had no interest in her actions, but politely replied, "Why are you not at the forge?"

"I am glad you asked," she moved her hips from side to side, almost as if she were trying to dance without moving her feet. "Ulfric has chosen me to accompany the Stormcloaks to the front lines!"

Aventus blinked in surprise. He had never quite heard of a blacksmith on the battlefield before; but, then again, he had never expressed any interest in the comings and goings of war. The dark-haired Imperial waited for her to continue.

Sure enough, the Nord was not quite done with her rambling. "Can you believe it!? _Me_! Oengul received word last night, I hardly slept a wink!" The girl's eyes glittered with excitement.

"Do you require aid with your burden?" Aventus gestured to the cart, curious as to hear the rest of her tale yet conscious of the task he had yet to complete.

The Nord nodded gratefully. "Please, if it would not trouble you."

"Not at all." Moving behind the cart, the teen raised the handlebars and pushed. The effort proved more difficult than he expected, but he did not complain and refused to allow the woman to aid him.

Once he managed to turn the cart onto the path the Stormcloak messengers had created, Hermir began speaking once again. "The Stormcloak Captain said Ulfric needed a blacksmith to accompany him and his men on the road. 'There are not many friendly towns outside of Eastmarch', he said." From the way she emulated a gravely, yet over-dramatic tone, Aventus assumed she had met with Thare Ebon-Blade. "I _begged_ Oengul to send me," she continued, "and he did! Praise Talos!" The pair of guards standing vigil at the gates chuckled at the girl's fanaticism.

She then continued to rant on about how Oengul had reasoned Hermir's skills would suffice when it came to the maintenance of the equipment of the Stormcloaks and how that act would enable him to remain in Windhelm to continue to forge large shipments of fresh arms and armor. She mentioned a suggestion to the Captain Oengul had made, that one girl would not be enough to maintain the entire army's arsenal and she would eventually need either an assistant or another skilled blacksmith to aid her.

"I do not imagine the Imperial loyalists will allow you to utilize their forges." Aventus commented, eyeing the anvil and the girl's equipment.

Hermir shook her head. "No, they will not. And when we must camp out in the wilderness, there won't _be_ a forge!"

"But the soldiers must have their arms..."

"But the soldiers must have their arms," she repeated, nodding. "The Captain mentioned something of a Nord mage joining us on the road. Supposedly, the mage studied at the College of Winterhold." From her tone, the girl did not seem too thrilled at the prospect and the grimace was apparent on her face.

"Do not enjoy the idea of relying on someone to supply your fire?" Aventus queried, curious.

Hermir shook her head. "I do not enjoy the idea of catering to a mage. They have the haughtiness of a Thalmor agent and the temperament of a frost troll!"

The teen thought back to Francois: while the Breton was a bit melodramatic and had the vice of malcontent, the younger boy always managed to pull his own weight. "They are useful, in their own right." he stated.

Snorting in derision, the girl did not reply, obviously not convinced.

"If they did not," Aventus scowled and swallowed past the bitter taste in his mouth, "Ulfric would not have asked for the aid of one."

The girl was silent for a bit before speaking in a breathless tone, "I... I never thought..." she fell silent and Aventus began to wonder just how far she was willing to go for a man she had never met before, a man who had inspired thousands upon thousands despite the fact he was simply a glory-mongering Jarl who had murdered a young, inexperienced king.

Reaching the stables, Hermir thanked Aventus profusely and hailed Alfarinn to hitch her cart to his carriage.

"That is a small load, little miss!" the Nord chuckled.

The girl looked a bit flustered at the response. "I was informed Ulfric would supply me with further materials..."

A Stormcloak officer reassured Hermir and insisted she had done a fine job. Aventus approached Ulundil, the Altmer male in charge of the stables. The man greeted the teen with a smile and said, "Ah, Aventus! Come for ol' Tempest?"

Nodding, the teen accepted the key to the first horse stall and slid the door open. The large, strong animal raised its head at the sight of its master's squire and snorted. Aventus took one whiff and realized he would need to muck the stall. Wrinkling his nose, he led the horse into the corral and went to work.

By the time he had finished mucking, settling in a fresh bed of straw, feeding and watering, shoeing, brushing, saddling, and armoring Tempest, the dark skies had begun to turn to the deepest blue.

He had not had a horse of his own, not even with Jasia, yet he had learned much of the care for horses during the past several weeks. Ulfric had him prepare Tempest for hunting expeditions, which Aventus hated due to the fact he was forced to run to keep up with the hunting party. Despite his growth as a rider on the road to Windhelm, it seemed Ulfric did not deem him worthy enough for a ride of his own.

As the other squires tended to their commander's horses, the teen admired his work with pride. The few places where the horse's coat was exposed, gleamed in the faint light, clean. The armor itself, much like its master's armor with its Nordic style and bear insignia, had taken almost as much time to polish and shine as the Jarl's had. He glanced to the other squires and the states of their stalls, most did not possess the same pursuit of perfection the Imperial had.

"Jealous?" a voice sneered. Aventus turned and came face to face with Galmar's squire, Rustnvar. The other teen had finished readying the General's horse and was now leading his own horse to the corral. From the way his paint's coat shone in contrast to the General's bay's coat, Aventus knew the Nord had taken more time on his own horse than his superior's.

"Why should I, when a squire abdicates his duties to better himself?" He did not wait for a response from the slow-minded Nord and instead led Tempest outside of the corral and waited patiently for Ulfric to arrive. Within a few moments, the man emerged from the city gates, his commanders striding boldly behind him.

The Jarl walked to the stables, his head held high and determination irradiating from his every step. He nodded to the teen when he caught sight of his steed beside his squire. In contrast, Galmar glared at the state of his own horse and glared at Rustnvar; Aventus had no doubt the other teen would receive a reprimand and a blow to the ear.

"Good work, Aventus," the Jarl praised. Aventus said nothing as the man looked his horse up and down before settling into the saddle. Gathering up the reins, the man looked down at the dark-haired Imperial, as he always did. "We will be riding hard today to Ivarstead. I trust you have all of your necessary equipment."

Out of the corner of his eye, the teen saw the other commanders mounting their own horses and their squires scrambling into a cart, save for Rustnvar. The Nord mounted his own horse, his ear visibly red despite his stone-faced appearance. "Shall I join the others in the cart, my lord?" Aventus attempted to mask the malice in his voice. He did not relish the idea of sitting behind in a cart filled with boys who would do nothing but jeer and throw unfounded claims of his life at him from here all the way to Solitude.

"Where does a squire belong? In a cart behind his lord," Ulfric sat up straight in his saddle, his face hard, almost irate, "Or standing vigilant beside his lord?"

Aventus stifled the sigh in his throat. Of course the Nord would do this: he would now be embarrassed in front of the commanders and other squires by running on foot beside his horse-mounted lord.

"Jorleif! Bring it out!" the Jarl's steward appeared from one of the stalls, leading a slim muscled, yet powerful and elegant looking horse to the squire.

The young stallion's coat was as black as the deepest pit in any cave and its intelligent, silver eyes glittered like starlight. It strode towards him, head bobbing up and down, sending its long, black mane bouncing with each motion. A fine, blue blanket, black saddle, and finely crafted armor reminiscent of that of the Stormcloaks rested upon the animal. The teen stood still, speechless.

As Jorleif handed the teen the reins, Ulfric looked down at the boy, but something else shone in his eyes: pride. "May I be the first to wish you a glorious birthday, Aventus. I give you your own steed, Eventide. May he serve you well in this life, and in Aetherius as well."

"I..." Aventus tried to swallow down the lump in his throat, but found he could not. He had misjudged the man, but he still could not find it within himself to name him king. Whether it was out of stubborn pride or something else, Aventus was not sure. Still, he managed to simply state, "I am unsure of what to say."

"There is nothing to say," Ulfric dismissed, "Now, get yourself in the saddle and let us ride, we have a long journey ahead of us."

The teen nodded and quickly swung himself onto the horse. He held a slight grip on the reins and allowed the horse to move its head freely.

"We ride now," the Jarl announced to his followers, turning and bellowing almost with the force of the wind itself. "We ride now to Ivarstead!" He raised a fist into the air, and the Sons of Skyrim cheered for their king.

* * *

 _ **I would assume Ulfric would accept any help he can get, even mages. Some Nords may think magic is for the "weaker races" as mentioned by Onmund, but I don't think Ulfric is stupid enough to 1) alienate the College of Winterhold for long and 2) pass up the opportunity to fight fire with fire (not literally, but I guess it can be taken so in this context).**_

 _ **Thanks guys for reading! Again, super sorry! I can't promise I'll get the next chapter up in a week (going to be even**_ **more _busy this upcoming week) but I'll get it up soon._**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's Note:**_

 _I'm so sorry guys. Everything has been crazy with work, college, and AFROTC. Obviously, I don't have much time to write, but I'm HOPING I can continue writing during my free time (weekends, if I'm not sleeping)._

 _Again, I'm sorry. Don't lose faith, I'm still here. Things'll just take a lot longer._

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

The Imperial released a breath of white into the winter air. Despite the chill of the early morning, his palms were sticky from his uneasiness: what he was about to suggest could have been grounds for treason. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, the teen closed his hand over the door handle of The White Hall. The posted guard, dozing as he stood, hardly roused as the door opened beside him.

Dim candlelight flickered from the horker tusk lamps and the fire pit in the center of the hall. The Jarl's throne had been pushed from the dais and into a corner. In its place stood a large wooden table, the sides and corners of a large piece of parchment hung from the sides of the surface. Small figurines, some the heads of dragons, others snarling bear heads, dotted the parchment.

"We must strike now, General, while the iron is hot!" a Nordic woman hissed.

Halting in his tracks, door shutting silently behind him, the Imperial teen was unsure if he should depart or stand his ground: tactics discussed between General Tullius and his Legate were not witnessed by lowly Legionaries.

The two Imperial officers stood beside the table, staring down at the figurines. "The iron is far from _hot_ , Legate Rikke," the elder Imperial shook his head in disagreement. "Winter has come to Skyrim."

"Our scouts report Ulfric has led his entire host out of Windhelm and is travelling south. If we wish to quash this rebellion, _now_ is the time to act!" the Legate growled, pounding her fist against the wood.

"And what would you have us do? You Nords are accustomed to the winters of the North. Our men will freeze and starve outside the walls of Windhelm while the Stormcloaks raze cities to the ground and their supporters pour boiling oil over our heads."

The Legate gripped the table's surface with enough force to illicit a creak from the strong oak. "Then we do nothing? We would allow Windhelm to slip from our grasp in our fear for the winter?"

Meeting the woman's glare, the General slowly stated, "We shall hold our position and prepare. We gather supplies and wait out the winter. As we wait, our men in Falkreath and Whiterun will hold their cities. By then, the Stormcloaks will have been weakened by their excursion to the South and will be too scattered to return to Windhelm to protect her."

"And if our men are not enough in the Southern Holds? What will we do if they capture our cities and turn more towards their cause?"

"Ulfric has the support of Riften. Nothing more. Maven Black-Briar and her gang of thieves have more control than Laila Law-Giver could ever hope to have. She is Jarl in title alone. The support they offer the Stormcloaks is negligible. Ulfric stands alone."

Legate Rikke snorted in disdain. "Then the men in his army are only shadows and we should have nothing to fear."

"Do not mock me, Legate," the General raised his index finger to the woman. "I am your commanding officer and you will follow orders or be tried for treason."

The woman gnashed her teeth together but released her hold on the oak table, remaining silent. Suddenly, she turned her head towards the door and straightened when she saw the Legionary standing at the door.

As General Tullius diverted his attention as well, the youngest in the room finally spoke up. "Good morning, sir. I apologize, sir. I did not mean to intrude, sir." He then remembered to salute as Cyrus had directed him to. The Imperial forces had remained in Dawnstar long enough for the Decanus to instruct his squad on proper drill techniques and formalities. Remembering the remainder of the lesson concerning customs and courtesies, the Legionary saluted Legate Rikke as well. "Good morning, ma'am."

There was a slight pause, both Imperial officers staring at the teen, before he recalled the necessary procedures. "Sir," he addressed the more senior officer in the hall, "Legionary Samuel reports."

"As you were, Samuel." General Tullius returned the salute, as did Legate Rikke, before the elder approached the Legionary. Samuel sighed silently in relief; despite the pause, he had performed the reporting procedures correctly. "What is it you need to report, Legionary?"

Samuel swallowed past his fear and spoke, "Sir, two weeks ago, I had successfully found someone approaching Dawnstar, a boy."

"Yes, Samuel, I recall." The General nodded, his attention fully on the teen. The man seemed to truly be interested in what he had to say.

"Sir," the teen spoke slowly, "I understand he is still in the process of being questioned... however... he... I know him, sir." General Tullius waited for Samuel to continue. "He and I spent time in Honorhall Orphanage together, sir."

Silence filled the room once again as Samuel paused for his commanding officer's response. "What are you suggesting, Samuel?"

"Sir, I know him," the teen repeated, "I do not know what has been said between him and those who have questioned him, but... if he claims he is not a member of the Stormcloaks... then I know he is telling the truth."

"The boy was seen wearing Stormcloak armor, Legionary, you saw that for yourself."

"He was also wearing Imperial armor, sir." Samuel stated matter-of-factly.

General Tullius stared at the brunette. "You claim to know this boy. Tell me then, Samuel, for what reason would he have to come to Dawnstar?"

"Before he came to the orphanage, he lived in Dawnstar, sir. Perhaps he returned to the place he called home."

"And why would he not return to Honorhall? Was that not his, _your_ , home?"

Samuel locked eyes with the older Imperial. "Sir, Honorhall was _never_ our home."

The man returned the gaze, pausing another moment before speaking. "Then what do you propose we do with him, Samuel?"

"I..." the teen looked down at his feet. "I know not, sir."

General Tullius remained silent. Samuel slumped his shoulders in defeat, certain his efforts had been in vain. "Those who questioned the boy have reiterated to me the same conclusion, Samuel. The boy was simply returning to his... 'home'. They have asked what is to be done with him."

Samuel looked up, heart catching in his throat, fearing the worst for his friend.

"He is young and has a strong back and a good pair of legs. He would make a useful Legionary." the General concluded.

The teen spoke up, relieved. "Sir, in our time in the wilderness, Alesan proved to be an adapt climber and was able to run for long periods of time over great distances. If, perhaps, he could be used as a scout..."

"That will be all, Samuel," General Tullius' eyes shifted slightly, as if in thought. "You are dismissed."

Samuel saluted the older man and dropped his arm after the General returned the gesture. The Legionary spun on his heel and strode out the door, waiting until he was back out in the cold to release the breath he had not realized he was holding.

* * *

 _ **Thanks guys for reading! I'm sorry it took so long, and I'm sorry it's so short. I'll make the others between 3k and 5k like I used to, once I actually get time to sit down and write.**_

 _ **And, actually, the drill and reporting in procedures are authentic. I've been learning them in AFROTC.**_


	17. Chapter 17

**_Author's Note:_**

 _Hey guys! I'm back! Finals are finally over and it's Winter Break._

 _But I'll be honest, I'm actually working on a Fallout 3 fanfic and on a personal story. I thought I should update this first before I publish the Fallout 3 one, so here it is!_

 ** _WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD! IF YOU HAVE TRIGGERS, DO NOT READ! I HAVE CLEARLY LABELED WHERE IT STARTS AND ENDS_**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

"My ancestors will _never_ let me into Sovngarde! Killed by a chili-" the Nord's final words were cut short as the raven-haired teen sliced open his throat.

Kicking the dead man to the ground, the teen whirled around, searching for another who was Oblivion-bent on slaying a supposed easy target such as himself. His eyes ran over the scene before him: most men and women of the Stormcloak force simply killed the enemy... others thought it was necessary to satisfy their own desires as well.

* * *

 _ **START GRAPHIC CONTENT**_

* * *

One Falkreath guard screamed in vain as two Stormcloaks tore off her armor and held her down as the pair discarded their pants as well. The female Stormcloak pressed herself onto the woman's face while the male Stormcloak had his way with her down below. Aventus felt the bile rise in his throat and he turned away, his eyes meeting with the Nord sitting silently upon his horse.

The "King" himself had spent the entire assault on horseback... simply watching the activities of his men from atop the hill east of the city. The man did nothing, he did not even smile, as his men rained arrows down upon the unsuspecting guards in the dead of night. Nor did he do anything when his men and women fell upon the dying female and male guards, terrified and desperate cries of protest from those being violated ringing out among the pleas of mercy.

War was disgusting.

Aventus could handle the death, it had followed him all of his life, but the rape and torture was another story.

The woman's sobbing filled his head, despite the fact she was nearly ten meters away and the cries and screams of others around him sounded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her beating her hands against the woman on top of her and her legs kicking out at the man between them. Aventus wanted it to stop. He brandished his bow and notched an arrow, releasing it into the woman's skull.

Her sobbing ceased and her body stopped moving. The pair of Stormcloaks did not even seem to notice as they continued to satisfy themselves upon her.

Aventus bent over and vomited into the dirt, repulsed at the sight. His only consolation was that the woman beneath them was at least finally free of their assault. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Aventus stood strode across the battlefield with a new purpose. He sought out every Falkreath guard beneath a Stormcloak's barren ass. He had to release them, no one should go through that pain, he believed; and most had suffered wounds that were far beyond repair, even with magic.

The second was a man between two men. The third was a man beneath a woman. As he walked off after delivering the blow, the woman barked in protest, "Hey!"

Ignoring her, the teen's attention was diverted to the shrieks of another woman. A thin man sat upon the woman's chest, his mouth was bloody and his hand held the woman's... bloody and fingerless. Aventus boiled with rage. After releasing the woman, he did so to the Stormcloak soldier as well.

A sudden force tackled him to the ground and pinned his hands above his head. "Just what do you think you're doing, _boy_!?" The Stormloak woman who had been assaulting the man glowered over Aventus.

"Get off of me." he warned.

The woman, a Nord, glanced him up and down before smiling wolfishly. "No, I don't think so." Without warning, she whipped out a small blade, Aventus immediately noticed the strange, bright green liquid dripping from it, and plunged it into his shoulder. Aventus howled in pain and his vision began to blur. He found he could not move any part of himself.

"What... did... you..."

"You took away my spoils," the woman undid the buckle on Aventus' belt. "It's only fair that I get them back _somehow_."

The teen tried to move, tried to resist, tried to push the harlot off of him and slay her before she could do anything to him... but he could not move. He could not move, yet he could still feel everything she was doing to him.

He was paralyzed.

The Stormcloak soldier yanked down his pants and laughed, as if she realized something. "Is this your first time, boy?" Aventus tried to hide the fear in his eyes. She threw her head back and cackled before saying, "Well, I guess we'll see if this is your last one too, eh?"

* * *

 _ **END GRAPHIC CONTENT**_

* * *

"Aventus!" a man's voice called out over the screams and shrieks of the doomed Falkreath guards. The thunder of hoofbeats vibrated the ground and began to grow in intensity.

Face paling in terror, the woman scrambled to her feet as a horse came into Aventus' view. "Sir! I was just -"

"A Son of Skyrim _never_ assaults one of his brothers," Ulfric bellowed, causing everyone to freeze. The only sound ringing through the city was the sobbing and screaming of those dying. "Help him, Jorleif." At Ulfric's whispered words, the Jarl's steward pulled up Aventus' trousers and pulled the dagger from his arm. Aventus wanted to scream in pain, but found he could not even do that.

"He stole my spoils, sir," the Stormcloak protested. "I was only taking back what was mine!"

A loud _SMACK_ resonated and the woman stumbled back in pain, clutching her face. " _He_ is not _yours_!" Ulfric swung himself off his horse and approached the woman, outside of Aventus' view.

"You're okay now, Aventus." Jorleif reassured him, pulling down the fabric from his shoulder and applying a wet cloth to his wound.

"Let this be your only warning! If _anyone_ lays a hand on him again, I will have their _head_ ," silence enveloped the city as the dying now lay dead and the Stormcloaks reached victory. "We have captured Falkreath! We have liberated another one of Skyrim's cities from the clutches of those Imperial bastards! This is only a small victory, but it will pave the way to a Skyrim reborn!"

Despite the events which had transpired a few moments before, the Stormcloaks all cried out in fervor. Movement began to return to Aventus' limbs and the teen sat up. "Thank you, Jorleif."

The elderly man smiled kindly and stepped back when another's voice stated, "Aventus."

The teen raised his head as he recognized the voice of Ulfric. Standing above the teen, the self-proclaimed king offered his squire a hand. Aventus obediently took it. He gazed around the battlefield. The attack had been swift and definite, all opposing the Stormcloaks falling in a matter of minutes: the Falkreath guardsmen had not stood a chance. The other Stormcloaks each glanced warily at the teen, just as they had done the time he and Ulfric had been traveling to Windhelm together.

Nodding to his liege, the teen reported in. "Yes, my lord?"

Ulfric eyed the Imperial with a strange look before ordering, "Wash the blood from your hands, then care for my horse. Once you've cleaned yourself up and attended to your uniform, join me in the longhouse." The Nord handed his squire the reins.

"Yes, my lord." Before the man could see the flustered expression present on the teen's face, Aventus spun on his heel and led the horse to the stables, adopting a mask of indifference once again, despite the carnage around him.

"And Aventus," the teen turned back to the man who had saved him. The Nord seemed to be at a loss for words. "I..." he cleared his throat and nodded to himself. "Do not worry about your actions today, you have done well." As he turned back to the path leading to the stables, he heard Ulfric growl to the woman, "Come with me, _now_."

Aventus wasted no time completing his appointed tasks. He entered the longhouse just as the dawn came. Ulfric stood before the Jarl's throne, his back to the chair. Before him stood the Stormcloak woman, now fully clothed, who had attempted to assault Aventus. As the Jarl of Windhelm waved Aventus over, the woman turned and glared at the teen, her face was still red and bloody from the blow Ulfric had given to her face.

"Nettla, you may now speak, and be brief." Ulfric nodded as Aventus stood a few feet away from the woman.

"I subdued one of the Falkreath guards, sir, and was collecting my due reward," she shot a glare out of her sidelong glance at the raven-haired teen beside her. "When _he_ slays him. I was not yet finished!"

No definite expression crossed Ulfric's face. Instead, he turned to Aventus, "Is this true?"

Aventus spoke, "She was... raping the man, my lord. I did not think it was appropriate."

"Taking someone's virtue _is_ one of the spoils of war, Aventus." Ulfric explained.

The teen silenced the protest in his throat.

"However, so is killing," the Nord turned to his subordinate. " _That_ is _his_ right. Just as you have a right to yours." The woman stood defiant in front of the man. "I suggest you act quicker, next time."

Gritting her teeth, the woman named Nettla remained silent.

"And Aventus," Ulfric turned back to his squire, "I trust you will understand, in the future, what is allowed in war."

"Yes, my lord."

Ice blue eyes turned back to Nettla. "However, that does not excuse the fact _you_ assaulted him." Fear flooded the woman's eyes and she seemed to internally debate with herself whether she should beg for her life. "You will not touch him. You will not speak with him. You will not look at him. If you do any such thing, your head will be mounted on a pike. Am I understood?"

"Yes, my king." the woman whimpered.

"Dismissed."

Nettla almost sprinted out the door.

"Do not think you are right, Aventus," Ulfric's voice coaxed the teen to turn back to him. "She had every right to... do what she did."

"But it is not _right_ , my lord."

"Is it right for brothers to steal from brothers? For brothers to invade their brother's home? For brothers to kill brothers? No," the Nord stared at the Imperial. "But that is what the Imperials have done. That is what _we_ have done. Such is war. There is no changing war. We do what me must to survive, to _win_. It is not about the 'right' path, Aventus, it is about what gets us to victory."

Aventus swallowed past the lump in his throat.

Ulfric turned his back on the teen. "I have no doubt there are those who will oppose my decision today, regarding you and Nettla" the man looked back at his squire. "Especially given the fact any man should be proud to have a woman want him in such a way."

" _I_ did not want her, my lord." He feared he would vomit once again, this time in front of Ulfric.

"No, perhaps not," the man hummed, "But the Nords..." Ulfric chuckled slightly, " _You_ know what the Nords believe. You are not a man until you have slain an ice wraith, yes. But you are also not a man until you've killed another man, until you've had a woman."

Aventus stiffened up. "My lord, I do not wish to -"

"If you do not wish it, then it shall not happen," the man sighed before speaking, "But know this, Aventus, I _cannot_ protect you forever, and not from a woman if something like this happens again."

"I understand, my lord."

Ulfric strode through the empty longhouse and up to a table pressed against the wall. He filled two mugs with mead. "Have you never liked a girl so much, Aventus?" He handed the teen a mug.

"Not to the point I would force myself upon her, my lord, no." Aventus took a sip of the light drink as a courtesy. Not particularly pleased with the flavor, he held the mug in his hands.

"No, not like that," Ulfric took another sip, "But you _have_ liked a girl?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Whom?"

The teen allowed himself a small smile. "You would not know her, my lord."

"I am still curious," the man leaned forward and pointed to the smile on the teen's face. "And from _that_ , I would assume she's one Oblivion-of-a woman."

Aventus paused, thinking of the one person in all of Skyrim who made him smile, the one person who he desperately wanted to protect, the one person he thought he could not live without, the one person he did not have or know if she was safe. He opened his mouth to speak, when the doors to the longhouse burst open and the now familiar sound of metal clanking on metal reached his ears.

Ulfric smiled at the approach of the Nord clad in iron armor. "I am glad you have arrived. Have you received word from Balgruuf?"

The Nord wordlessly shook his head. Aventus furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, the task had been simple: either Balgruuf refused Ulfric's axe or he accepted it, there was no real way to remain neutral... unless the Nord failed to deliver the axe in the first place.

Sighing, Ulfric nodded, "Very well. We shall give him some more time to think then, yes?"

Saying nothing, the strange Nord simply bolted out of the room, not waiting to see if Ulfric had anything else for him.

* * *

 _ **Thanks guys for your patience! As I mentioned before, I am working on a Fallout 3 fanfic, tentatively titled**_ **Wastelanders and Wanderers** _ **.**_

 _ **I'll be posting the first chapter for it soon and you can expect to see me bouncing between**_ **CAS _and_ WAW _all through break._**

 ** _I know this is taking a turn for the darker, but as I had mentioned in the description, this is not the same as vanilla Skyrim, this is an attempt to make it all more realistic and from the eyes of teenagers growing up during this tumultuous time. I will continue to clearly label and warn about graphic content as it will only get much, much more graphic from here. This was mainly to test the waters to see what people think and to make adjustments accordingly._**

 ** _TLDR: This is rated M for a reason, and it will get more graphic!_**

 ** _As always, let me know what you guys think, and thanks for reading! We are_ nowhere _near done but I hope we're starting to pick up some steam, I know the buildup is killing me._**


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:**

 _Happy holidays everyone! One for CAS_ AND _for WaW! How's that for a present?_

 _I don't remember if I mentioned this before, but considering that in medieval times (I am ignoring magic as a factor here) puberty happened for children around age 14 (due to nutrition limitations and not as much external hormone exposure), I am assuming the orphans are fully developed at this point, but will not be officially considered adults until about age 16 (with the exception of the Stormcloaks and their coming of age ceremonies aligning with the Nordic lifestyle)._

 _If, for some reason, something happens to my account, I'm letting you guys know right now I will be reposting this somewhere else (probably on Archive of Our Own) along with WaW. I don't think anything will happen, but I just reread FanFiction's policy on mature stories and I don't want to leave you guys hanging or abandon the story. The switch won't happen unless something happens to my account, so don't go anywhere else looking for this story or me!_

 _I hope you all are spending a wonderful time with your families, and if not, I hope you're having an awesome time spending time with yourself! I want you guys to know that you guys are awesome and that you aren't alone, no matter what you may think. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here and so are others. I know things can get rough around the holidays, but know you guys are amazing and times may get tough, but it gets better, trust me._

 _I'll try to post another chapter to say Happy New Year's!_

 _Let me know what you guys think, this was a lot more tame than I had imagined it to originally turn out (I'm taking my English teacher's advice and letting the characters write the story instead of forcing situations to happen), but if you guys want it to be more graphic (or less) let me know!_

 _ **WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ALLUSIONS TO GRAPHIC CONTENT! IF YOU HAVE TRIGGERS, DO NOT READ!**_

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

It was dark. She sat, and her hands were bound above her head, her wrists bloody and chafing against the rope digging into her skin. She was bare, exposed to the interior of the fur tent, save for the thick, rough blanket draped over her legs. Dirt and blood and sweat had caked over her skin, and she knew she must have smelt like Oblivion itself. The pattering of the rain upon the top of the tent was her only companion, the only indication she was still on Nirn and not in some godforsaken plane of Oblivion. As far as she knew, it did not rain anywhere but Nirn. Even then, that was not enough to give her solace.

She would rather be dead than endure this pain.

For everything she weathered, she _wished_ she was dead. The sharp aches crisscrossing her body made her certain of one thing: more suffering was to come.

She did not know how long she had been their captive. She did not know what day it was. She did not know what time it was. She did not know if her friends were looking for her or if they too had been captured. She did not know why _they_ captured her. The only thing she knew, besides the pain, was that they were her greatest enemy: they were the Forsworn.

Sometimes it felt as if days passed before someone would come to visit her; other times, mere moments. Some would bring her cuts of venison and water, or rather, one young girl whom she had silently named "Mousey" due to her small frame, dark hair, and dark eyes.

The others, men and women alike, would bring her nothing but pain.

It was always the same: they would enter, flame in hand, either literally or by lantern, assess her, and then have their way with her.

Today was no different.

The tent flap was pulled back and a flash of gray skies and lightning filled her vision for a moment, before it disappeared and darkness enveloped her vision once again. The man, or rather a _young_ man, not much older than her, held a small flame in the palm of his hand: he was a mage.

The girl forced herself to remain still, despite her agitation: the mages were always crueler than their non-magical counterparts. She did not look at him. Instead, she stared forward, at a patch of discolored fur within the tent.

He took a tentative step towards her, but she did not take that as nervousness: most liked to feign nervousness before changing face and taunting her while they sated themselves.

She forced herself to breathe. In and out. In and out. She urged herself to stay calm.

"Hello," she started at the sound of his voice. _No_ _one_ ever greeted her in such a manner, a greeting was usually a taunt, if they graced her with anything at all. "I-I hope I'm not disturbing you..." His voice quivered, like a leaf caught in a blizzard.

She did not buy the act. She kept her eyes forward and breathed.

He stopped a meter short of her and crouched down, looking at her. He did not say anything as his eyes ran up and down her exposed body. "By Hircine, you're beautiful." he breathed.

She swallowed past the bile rising in her throat. _Just get it over with._

"What are you called," The girl finally moved her eyes and met his gaze, certain he was taunting her. "What are you called?" he repeated.

"What does it matter?" she retorted, her voice coming out as a rasp from disuse.

The young man jerked back slightly, his face one of confusion. "'What does it matter?' Despite your... situation... you are still a person..."

"The fact that I am in this situation would suggest otherwise," somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew she was speaking too much, she knew he was going to ravage her any moment, but she did not care. Her fury began to rise, yet she kept her voice calm and steady. "The fact that I am nothing but a _whore_ to you people."

"'You people'," he said the words over again and glanced down, as if he were turning her words over in his mind, examining them. The gray of his eyes met her ice blue. "You..." he cut himself short. He sighed, dejected, "What are you called?"

The girl narrowed her eyes at the young man. After a moment, she jutted her chin out. "Give me your name, and I shall give you mine."

Smiling slightly, the young man nodded, "I am called Rech Evran." He waved his free hand, indicating he wished for her to live up to her end of the bargain.

Keeping her eyes on Rech, the girl said, "I am called Runa Fair-Shield."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Runa," his crooked smile seemed genuine. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, remembering something, "Oh, I brought you something." He dug into his pockets and pulled out a hand-sized object wrapped in paper and a flask. He waved his fire-burdened hand and a lit candle appeared at his side. Extinguishing the flame in his hand, he set the flask down and unwrapped the object. "It's fresh off the fire." He held a cut of sliced venison in his hand.

 _Where's Mousey?_

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, Rech stated, "Lana was... preoccupied this morning." He held a slice of meat between two fingers and brought them to the girl's lips. She always felt embarrassed to be fed in such a way. As he continued to administer her food, he continued talking. "She is my sister, Lana."

"What was she preoccupied with?" Runa asked between slices, simultaneously satisfying her own curiosity and gauging just how much the young man would reveal to her.

Rech paused for a moment, "She is speaking with one of our matriarchs," he looked at the prisoner, "about you." The girl swallowed. "The matriarch has just returned from journeying to our sister tribe, and Lana is explaining the situation to her. Lana has spent the most time with you, after all."

"Why did they pick you as her replacement?"

The young man smiled again, wiping his hands clean of the now finished venison. "You are very curious, are you not?"

"I have been in this tent for gods-only-know how long, and I have not been graced with a decent conversation until now. Of _course_ I am curious." Runa snapped before she could hold her tongue.

Rech unstoppered the flask and held it to her lips. "I suppose that explains it." When she was finished drinking the water, he placed the cork back into the flask. "She selected _me_ to watch over you because Lana is my sister." He spoke slowly, locking eyes with the girl once again, silently relaying to her the true reason he was there and not his sister: if Rech did not perform his duties, the matriarch would ensure his sister would pay the price.

"Who is the matriarch?" she queried, knowing she would not know who the woman was, but she was still curious to know at least _some_ detail of the woman improving her quality of treatment.

The gray-eyed young man sat down across from her. "I only know her to be called, Matriarch Tilnewa. She is a very powerful woman, the leader of our tribe and the rest of our matriarchs."

"What is she like?"

"She is firm, unyielding..." his voice lowered so much Runa strained to hear him, "and unforgiving." He shuddered, his voice still barely above a whisper. "I have seen her rend men in half from when they failed to fulfill her orders. Women's faces age and turn to dust if they questioned her. Children set alight if they kicked up dust in her direction." He locked eyes with the girl and his voice grew in strength and what sounded like pride. "She is everything Red Eagle desires in his matriarchs."

Runa said nothing, silently horrified at the thought of revering someone capable of such cruelty. She finally mustered the courage to ask, "What will happen to me?"

The young man sighed. "I know not. I believe that is what the matriarchs are discussing."

"Why did they capture me?" she suddenly demanded, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"I know not."

"Do you not know or do you refuse to tell me," Runa almost growled, leaning forward suddenly and sending a wave of pain at her wrists and up the back of her neck. Something flashed in the man's eyes and surprise came over his features. The girl quickly realized her mistake and dropped her gaze, "I-I am sorry."

His hand reached forward and she shut her eyes, bracing herself for another sharp pain.

It never came.

She felt a warm glow wash over her and she dared to open one of her eyes. His hand was extended out, though not quite far enough to touch her. Instead, a golden light splayed out of his fingers. She felt the pain in her body subside and the grime lift from her features. "What are you -"

"I would like for you to trust me, Runa," he murmured, dropping his hand. "While I do not have the ability to free you, you must understand I do not wish this upon you. I do not believe you were brought here for this. We do not do this to our own people."

Runa was confused. "I am not a Forsworn." She normally would have spat out such a sentence, but now, she was genuinely bewildered by the statement of the young man.

"No, but you _are_ a Breton."

She shook her head.

The young man shrugged, "Half-Breton... but still... Breton." He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It is apparent in your eyes."

"Nords have ice blue -"

He shook his head, "The _shape_ is different than that of a Nord's, Runa, believe me, I've seen plenty."

The girl lifted her chin, "What is it _you_ do, Rech?"

His hand fell, but he offered her a smile and immediately stated with pride. "I am a hunter."

"And what is it you hunt?"

"Rech!" a voice barked from outside the tent flap.

The young man jumped to his feet. "I-I must go." He waved his hand once again, dismissing the conjured candle and igniting another flame in his hand. "I... I hope to see you again."

"What is it you hunt?" she asked again, wondering if he had been the one to pull her from her tent.

"Deer, mostly. Sometimes rabbits or trolls."

"Rech! Out here, _now_!"

"I-I must go!" He did not wait for a response; he quickly turned around and exited, leaving Runa to herself.

She did not know how long she would have to herself before either Mousey or Rech would come to feed her or someone else would come to torment her once again. She hoped it was one of the two prior rather than the latter. Though she began to wonder, the matriarch, Matriarch Tilnewa as Rech had called her, seemed to have an interest in her, perhaps she would not be visited by the latter anymore... or perhaps the visits would be more frequent.

She vowed to not get her hopes up.

Without warning, a voice hissed words she could not decipher and a shiver ran up her spine. Tinged in its words was an undeniable fury and malice. Moments later, blood-curdling screams echoed through the air, piercing through the tent walls. Men and women screeched in terror and a single woman's voice tore over it all. She bellowed in rage and spilled curses upon those outside in foreign tongues.

The girl was not sure if she would be next. She did not know if she would survive. She did not know what would happen. But she knew it could not be good.

She blocked out the terrible screams with one thought, with one individual, Sam: his short, chestnut brown hair; his light olive skin; his beautiful, sky blue eyes; his strong build; his stupid, crooked smile; his gentle, yet somehow powerful voice. And she dreamt of how he would come for her, how he would rescue her from this horrid place, where nightmares dwell.

* * *

 _ **What a way to say happy holidays, right? I hope you guys don't mind the turn this is taking, I had originally planned for this to be revealed much, much later, but I didn't think you'd want a boring chapter for Christmas/the holidays.**_

 _ **I am assuming the Forsworn worship either Hircine, Molag Bal (as seen by the ancient shrine in the Reach), Namira (also seen by the ancient shrine in the Reach), or Dibella (as seen by the Forsworn stealing Dibella statues and kidnapping Sybil), or a mixture of all four. Also, my brother brought this up to my attention and I'm clarifying, I don't think**_ **ALL _Forsworn are cannibals. And the venison is actually venison... in this chapter (I hadn't even considered cannibalism, honestly)._**

 _ **Thanks everyone for reading! You guys are awesome!**_


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:**

 _Happy New Year everyone!_

 _So classes are starting back up on Tuesday so I won't be able to update as much as I'd like. I'll try to post throughout the semester, but don't expect any miracles!_

 _ **WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ALLUSIONS TO GRAPHIC CONTENT! IF YOU HAVE TRIGGERS, DO NOT READ!**_

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

The platinum blonde-haired woman stumbled out of the inn, careening to the side and nearly knocking over several barrels in the process. The teen did not need to be staring as intently as he was to know where she was, but still his eyes were locked on the woman... the woman who had assaulted him.

Somehow, the blonde managed to make her way down the stairs without falling into the dirt, and she made her way west, towards the city gates. The raven-haired teen followed silently, keeping to the shadows. Despite the woman's intoxicated state, he did not wish to be seen prior to his engagement with the woman.

It had been a week and a half since the incident, yet he had needed to bide his time, his first victim could not have been the one he wanted to dispose of first, everyone would know it was him who committed the act and he would be thrown in jail and executed. He needed to be patient, and he was.

The night after the "liberation" of Falkreath, he had pulled a resident of Falkreath from the road, a man attempting to take advantage of a woman in the wake of the city's chaotic state, and silenced him. The teen threw the man to the wolves, alive, and watched with twisted satisfaction as the animals tore into the man's flesh.

Three nights later, he did the same to the Stormcloak solider he had first seen assaulting the woman on the battlefield. The following night, the Stormcloak woman who had joined the previous Stormcloak in the assault, also joined him in the dark, depths of death.

He had nearly been caught when he had attacked the pair of Stormcloak men who had assaulted a man between them. The pair had stumbled out of Dead Man's Drink and strolled into the woods to relieve themselves, when the teen struck. The first man went down easily, but the second, a fat, ugly Nord, would not. He grabbed the teen by the back of his neck and slammed him into the ground. As he felt his trousers being pulled, the teen managed to drive his dagger into the man's face and as the Nord fell back, the teen proceeded to eviscerate him.

It was disgusting.

He hated how vile his own comrades could be. It was a disgrace, and they did not deserve to live. It seemed even in the remote parts of Skyrim, there was still work to be done.

The woman called Nettla was no different.

She made her way out of the city, drunkenly waving at the Stormcloak guards posted at the gates. The teen began to climb the city's south wall, not wanting to be seen exiting the city after the woman, nor desiring to be caught exiting the city when he was supposedly stationed at the stables.

"What're you doing out here, Nettla?" he heard one of them ask.

"Tha barrass is o'er 'ere, are they not?" The slur in the woman's voice was apparent.

A second woman's voice chuckled, "Yeah, if you like to sleep with horses! Or do you just like to sleep with little boys?"

"Don't talk like that, you heard the king, you could get your head stuck on a pike for saying that." the man hummed.

"Ulfric is mighty, but he does not have ears all over Skyrim. Have a laugh!" the second woman blew off the man's warning.

"It is not safe to leave the city, Nettla," the man continued, "You know that."

"Oh shut it," Nettla growled, "the barrass is o'er 'ere, I know it!"

"Okay, have fun screwing the horses! I thought I saw the Aretino boy over there too, try not to get caught this time!" As the two gate guards howled with laughter, the teen turned his head and peered up over the west wall, seeing her continue down the road.

A guard patrolled the top of the city gates, over the west wall, torch in hand. His back was turned to the south wall... for now. The teen took the chance and hauled himself up and over the stone ledge and jumped down, landing on all fours. He quickly followed the tree line along the road and spotted his target.

The woman paused at the stables, as if she were contemplating entering to harass the teen in his supposed whereabouts. She seemed to think better and instead made her way past the stables and hung a left at the fork, obviously clueless as to where she was going.

Satisfied they were away from prying eyes, the teen made his move. He stepped in front of her and shot her a glare.

Shock washed over the woman's face before it was quickly replaced by a smirk. She sauntered up to him, and inquired in a husky tone, "Change yer mind, didya, _boy_?" The teen felt his lip curl with disgust as he allowed the woman to approach. "What?" she almost taunted, "Not goin' t' say anythin' this time?" She was so close, he could feel the warmth radiating off of her body along with the stench of beer.

He sent a quick punch to her gut, knocking the air out of her lungs and sending her staggering back. Whipping out a thick cloth, he jammed it into her mouth and tied it behind her head. Her eyes widened with shock before he sent another punch into her throat and pushed her onto her back. As she choked, he jammed a blade into her shoulder and grabbed a fistful of hair, dragging her into the trees and towards the inhabited den.

The woman's movements ceased, the poison coursing through her veins, and the teen smirked to himself. "Now you will know what _he_ felt, what _I_ felt, Nettla." he snarled as he threw her towards the mouth of the cave. Six eyes glowed from the depths of the cave, and three wolves emerged... followed by seven others. They approached the fallen woman, hardly glancing at the teen who offered them a free meal. As the first opened its jaws, a guttural howl pierced the air.

The sound made the teen freeze in fear. Remembering his time spent in this part of Skyrim, the teen clambered up a tree. From his vantage point, he could see just what had made the sound and be out of harm's way. Even if the creature did manage to climb the tree, the teen knew he could rain arrows down upon it and jump to another tree if need be. He managed to raise himself five meters off the ground before he saw it.

Black fur covered its entire body. It walked like a man, yet its dinner-plate sized hands and feet, or rather, clawed paws and wolf-snout, identified it as something else entirely. Yellow eyes stared down at the immobilized woman and its fangs dripped with saliva.

It was a werewolf.

The other wolves backed away from the woman, not in fear, but rather, reverence. They respected this creature. The werewolf gazed up at the sky and released another ear-piercing howl, sending a shiver down the teen's spine, before it tore into the woman. The teen watched, horrified, yet too fixated to avert his eyes. The beast used its claws to rip open the woman, armor and all. Entrails and bones flew across the forest floor as it dug in like a sabre cat tore into a deer. It buried its snout into the woman's chest cavity, swallowing huge gulps of flesh and bone alike.

Blood dripped down its chin and it released another victorious howl. This time, the other wolves joined in the macabre chorus. In an instant, the beast was gone, sprinting through the forest at a breakneck speed. The wolves retreated into their den, there was nothing left to even pick at. The woman was nothing but a bloody stain in the underbrush.

When he was finally able to move, he doubled back to the stables, avoiding the patrols of Stormcloaks milling about the road, and led Tempest back into his stall from the corral. He spent the next hour returning to his duties as Ulfric's squire: tending to the man's horse and its gear, as well as tending to his own steed. He managed to overhear the men and women whispering to one another and realized learned they were searching for the beast which had devoured their friend, though they had no idea what the beast truly was. Once he was done, and stank of horse, he returned to the longhouse.

A loud _CRASH_ boomed into the teen's ears. Candlesticks, plates, goblets, venison, rabbit legs, pies, tarts, and potatoes fell onto the ground. The tongues of flame from the candles fell onto the downed tablecloth and ignited the fabric.

A foot stamped out the blaze as its owner snarled out a string of curses, "Horker-of-a-wife, troll-brained, horseshit, lying, devil!" Ulfric's man-bear General whirled around to face his king, "We have waited long enough!"

Ulfric sat upon the deposed Jarl's throne, his demeanor calm. "Patience, Galmar. I am sure Balgruuf -"

"Balgruuf spits on his heritage as a Nord, breaks bread with the enemy, and laughs at our cause! He is no Son of Skyrim! He is a traitor!"

The seated man diverted his attention to his squire. "Aventus, you look as pale as snow. Are you alright?"

Aventus forced himself to nod.

"Of course he's not 'alright'," Jorleif huffed. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Not since noon, Jorleif." the teen murmured.

"Far too long," Ulfric exclaimed. "Get some food in here!" he bellowed. Two serving maids came stumbling in, their arms laden with food.

Aventus sat at the barren table and thanked the women as they placed plates and goblets in front of him. They dared not to glance at the General still fuming upon the tablecloth and over the table's previous contents. Aventus noted the women's change in dress since the first night: it seemed the former Jarl Siddgeir spent his days gawking at the two young women as they leaned over to serve him. Ulfric remedied that situation quickly, ordering them to wear more conservative attire. It seemed the thick-headed Nord had some respect for people, at least. As quickly as they had entered the room, the pair of women darted out, returning to the kitchens.

As the teen grimaced at the bloody piece of venison in front of him, the self-proclaimed king seemed to take notice. "Is something the matter, Aventus?"

"No, sir." he shook his head and cut into the meat, trying not to grimace as blood oozed out of it. He choked down a piece and attempted to hold it down.

Ulfric paused for a moment before returning to Galmar. "He just needs time, Galmar."

"You sent the new recruit on the mission to Balgruuf on the 24th of Hearthfire, it is now the 6th of Sun's Dusk! Tell me over six weeks is not enough time!" The broad-shouldered Nord began to pace about the room.

"My axe has not returned to me, I would say Balgruuf is with us."

"And how do you know the recruit has even met with Balgruuf!?"

"What are you suggesting, Galmar?"

Aventus looked up at the General. The man-bear straightened up and spoke slightly slower. "We have not received your axe yet, yes. But is it possible the recruit has yet to even meet with Balgruuf?"

Ulfric's brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you suggesting he is delaying taking my axe to Balgruuf? For what purpose?"

"Perhaps he is in league with the Imperials!" Galmar concluded.

The Jarl of Windhelm shook his head and smiled slightly. "It is always plots and schemes with you, Galmar."

"We need to strike, Ulfric."

"Not yet."

Galmar clenched his fists. "How long are you going to wait?"

The younger Nord turned to his General. "What other choice do we have?"

"Shove a sword through his gullet." the man-bear suggested.

"We have been through this many times before, Galmar. Taking his city and leaving him a disgrace would make a more powerful statement." Aventus pushed his food around his plate, having no interest in the conversation he knew would follow. It was always the same. Galmar urging his king to attack and slay all in his path, Ulfric refuting his General's advice with sound reasoning. It was always the same, almost always the same words, always the same conclusion. It was almost maddening.

The door slammed open. "Sir!" a Stormcloak yelled.

Ulfric rose to his feet, as did Aventus, but Galmar was the first to respond, "What is it, soldier?" Aventus already knew the answer to the question.

From behind his helmet, the Stormcloak looked as if he were about to vomit. "Sir, there was a... in the woods... another attack... Nettla..."

The teen could feel the Jarl's eyes boring into the back of his head. "Another attack, you say?" the Nord asked.

"Yes. When she failed to return, we sent out a search party. She took a left at the fork past the stables and a little bit up the road, it looked like she had been dragged. All the way to a den of wolves, my king. But this time... this time, there wasn't anything left! Just blood and-and a few pieces of armor." The man stammered.

"Those wolf attacks have been becoming more and more frequent, as of late." Galmar muttered to his king. Aventus maintained his mask of indifference.

"Why did you allow her past the gates? There is a strict policy on entering and exiting the city: no one is allowed in or out, without my permission. The only exception is my squire, Aventus Aretino," Ulfric turned to his General, "Are not all gate guards briefed on the matter?"

"They are, my king."

"Then explain yourself, soldier." the Jarl growled.

The soldier gulped in fear. "Sir, I tried to, but she..." He fell silent, unable to come up with an adequate excuse. Aventus recalled the two gate guards and their heckling of the drunken woman. He snorted in disdain but remained silent, not wanting to implicate himself.

"And what of your partner? If I recall, there are two gate guards per post." Ulfric continued his questioning.

"Hrolga and I... We-we did the best we could, sir! Nettla would not listen!" The Nord's face blanched with fear, obviously remembering the jests and japes his comrade had made.

Ulfric sighed. "Soldier, your actions may have killed another tonight. I trust knowing _that_ is enough punishment. I would like to speak to your fellow guard as well, please inform her. Dismissed." The Jarl of Windhelm returned to his seat.

Nodding the soldier saluted but did not step out of the longhouse.

"Is there something you wish to say, soldier?" Galmar asked.

"The-the locals have heard howling, and-and so did we. That's why we sent out a search party, my king." he explained.

"What kind of howling, soldier?" Ulfric inquired.

Aventus could almost hear the surreal howling himself, and he suppressed the shiver threatening to run up his spine.

The man shook his head. "It... it was not natural, sir."

* * *

 ** _According to the National Wildlife Federation, wolves can be in a pack consisting of two to 15 members, and sometimes up to 30._**

 ** _Since the wolves in Skyrim attack people, I highly doubt they are rabid (chances of the entire wolf population being rabid is extremely low), and I am inferring they are predatory._**

 ** _I am also assuming each stable would have a corral for the horses to run around in (like in Oblivion), since horses need to run._**

 ** _Thanks for reading! Don't forget to submit a review!_**


End file.
